


Cinderstiles

by willwork4dean



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - Most of canon happened, Adult Content, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Derek's life is a Rom-Com, Hurt Stiles, I can't believe I killed off my fave, Kate isn't a hunter but she's still a bitch, Magic!Stiles; BAMF!Stiles, Multi, Or maybe a house elf?, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Peter is extra-crazy in this one, Slow Build, Some chapters contain non-graphic discussions of previous non con, Stiles is Harry Potter?, What is happening?, Wolf Pack, but without Derek, please just read it, wolves are still secret but more assimilated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:05:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 67
Words: 202,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willwork4dean/pseuds/willwork4dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles comes with the territory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“One more thing.” Doctor Deaton paused. “Stiles comes with the territory.”

Derek glanced up from his paperwork, distracted. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

“Stiles comes with the territory.” 

Derek frowned. “Who?”

Deaton calmly folded his hands on the conference table. “Stiles Stilinksi.”

Derek shuffled through his paperwork. “Whittemore, Reyes, McCall...I don’t see that name here.” He snapped his fingers at his secretary, who stepped forward and placed a heavy pen in his hand. Derek flipped to the last page of the contract, resisting the urge to run a restless finger under his shirt collar. He still wasn’t used to wearing a suit and tie every day. “How do you spell the name?”

“S-T-I-L-I-N-S-K-I.”

Derek carefully wrote it down. “First name?”

“He just goes by Stiles,” Deaton said easily.

Derek glanced up again, but Deaton’s expression was as impassable as it had been for the last three hours. Derek was pretty sure he could wolf out, full form, and the man wouldn’t even blink. No wonder he had been chosen to negotiate the terms of surrender. 

Two could play at that game, Derek decided. “Fine,” he said mildly. “I take it he’s another one of Peter’s Betas?”

“Not…exactly.” Deaton tilted his head, a tiny show of weakness. “Stiles is human.”

Derek frowned, shuffling through his papers again. He was beginning to grow hot under the collar and not just from the tie. His secretary had assured him that everything was in order. Sensing Derek’s disapproval, the man shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his shiny black dress shoes squeaking with the movement.

Derek scanned the pages of the contract that listed the human families. “McCall, Boyd…There’s no Stilinski on this list either.”

“There’s a reason for that.” 

“The reason being…”

For the first time, Deaton hesitated.

“Doctor Deaton?” Derek prompted impatiently.

Deaton paused, then shook his head. “Scott and Stiles are a package deal.”

“McCall? I thought his mate’s name was Argent.” The name stuck in Derek’s mouth, just like the very idea stuck in his craw. A werewolf mating with a hunter—what was the world coming to?

Deaton interrupted Derek’s mental tirade. “That’s correct. Allison is Scott’s mate, and Melissa McCall is his mother. Stiles is Scott’s foster brother. Where Scott goes, Stiles goes.” Deaton paused again. “And Scott wants Stiles granted Omega status. Or the deal is off.”

“What the fuck?” The words burst out before Derek could stop them. He silently cursed himself for his lack of control. This was why his family had been reluctant to let him practice solo. His temper was legendary, even among werewolves. 

Behind him, his secretary shifted anxiously again, his hands fluttering as if they wanted to readjust the square of ivory silk tucked carefully in the breast pocket of his charcoal-gray Armani suit.

In contrast, Deaton didn’t move, but Derek could sense he was amused by the slip. “You heard me."

Derek took a deep breath, feeling his claws poke at the skin of his fingertips, making them itch. His tie was like a collar around his neck. “So let me get this straight,” he growled. “Stilinski is human, but McCall is demanding he be granted Omega status, not Protected Human status.”

“Precisely.”

“And if we don’t grant it, the entire deal is off? Just like that?”

“Yes. And,” Deaton held up one finger, forestalling Derek’s reply, “the pack will then consider the other offers on the table. I don’t need to remind you of the strategic importance of the territory,” he added.

“Hardly, Doctor,” Derek replied dryly. Every wolf on the West Coast knew the bloody history of Beacon Hills. The area lay at the nexus of several larger territories to the north and south. Any wolf pack that wanted to avoid those territories faced a choice — a treacherous journey along the Sierra Nevadas, a tedious one along the Pacific Coast, or a shortcut through Beacon Hills. 

The latter, however, required permission from the ruling pack, usually paid for by a hefty bribe. For centuries, several major clans had laid claim to the tiny territory, fighting tooth and claw over the disputed land. It was only in the past twenty years that the Hales had regained control, thanks to Peter.

Derek winced at the thought and forced his mind back to negotiations. “I get that McCall never killed for Peter, but the others did. That makes him an outsider, despite his rank. Does he really have the authority to speak on their behalf?”

“Given the unfortunate situation…” Deaton paused delicately.

“You mean the sorry mess my uncle left behind,” Derek snapped. It was how his father had referred to the situation at the breakfast table that morning.

“Indeed.” Deaton inclined his head, maddeningly unruffled by Derek’s tone. “Given the situation, the other Betas have elected McCall their spokeswolf. Although I’m told they are all in agreement on this particular issue. Even for a wolf pack, their bond is…unusually strong.”

Derek leaned back in his massive leather chair. After a brief internal struggle, he gave in, extended his claws, and drummed them on the polished table that ran almost the entire length of the conference room. Behind Deaton, an enormous window stretched floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the city that lay 98 floors below. 

It was a sweltering 105 degrees in Los Angeles, the sun beating down relentlessly on the sprawling streets. Derek thought longingly of a cool, dark forest, imagining himself running in full wolf form, slipping through the towering trees and plunging into a mountain lake. It was a technique his therapist had taught him, and as much as Derek hated to admit it, it worked. He felt his temper recede, along with his claws.

“You said there was a reason the contract didn’t mention Stilinksi,” he said abruptly. 

For the first time, Deaton looked surprised—and maybe a tiny bit impressed. But his voice remained detached and even.

“That is correct,” he said.

“What is it?”

In response, Deaton raised an eyebrow and gave an almost imperceptible nod toward Derek’s secretary.

Derek spun around in his chair. “You!” he barked at the man — he was pretty sure his name was Harris. “Out.”

Harris blinked behind the narrow frames of his eyeglasses. “Are you sure, Alpha Hale? Your father wished me to assist you with these negotiations—“

Derek cut Harris off with a growl, and the man fled, closing the huge double doors behind him. The stench of his fear remained in the air, fighting with his Hugo Boss cologne.

Derek wrinkled his nose in distaste and spun back around in his chair to face Deaton. “Now. Tell me everything you’re not telling me.”

Rather than being alarmed, Deaton actually looked relieved.

“Stiles is witchborn,” he said simply. 

Derek blinked in surprise. “That’s rare these days.”

“Tell me about it.” For the first time, some emotion crept into the vet’s voice. “I could hardly believe it myself.” 

“What’s his story?”

Deaton reached for the pitcher of water on the table, then gestured politely toward the glasses that were set neatly on a silver tray, surrounded by paper napkins fanned in a circle. 

Derek nodded. The doctor poured two glasses, slid one over, and drank half of his, then leaned back in his chair and loosened his tie and collar.

 _What the hell_ , Derek thought, and followed suit. He felt his blood pressure ease further. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything stronger,” he said. He realized to his surprise that he wouldn’t mind sharing a drink with the man across the table.

Deaton gave a snort of laughter. “Tell me about it,” he said again. He set down his water glass and pressed both hands to his face, rubbing gently for a few moments. Then he looked at Derek with exhaustion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Your uncle really did create a huge bloody mess. Emphasis on the bloody. It’s taken everything I have, not to mention every resource my order could muster, to contain the situation.” 

“We appreciate your efforts, Doctor,” Derek said sincerely. “Trust me, the Hale clan wants nothing more than to keep things quiet, not just for our own sake, but for the community’s.” He leaned forward, voice urgent. “That’s why we need to reassert control over the territory immediately.”

“And you will,” Deaton replied calmly. “As long as you agree to Scott’s terms.”

Derek frowned. “I know McCall’s Bitten, not Born, but does he understand what he’s asking? A human with Omega status—it’s never been done.”

“Trust me to do my research, Hale.” Deaton’s face was impassive again, even cold. “It’s been done. Just not for a very long time.”

“Still, his status among wolves would be lower than low,” Derek argued. An idea occurred. “We could offer the bite. As a Beta—”

Deaton was already shaking his head. “Peter offered it, after he bit Scott. The boy said no.”

“Why the hell would he do that?” Derek asked, offended. 

“Maybe you should ask him yourself.” Deaton smirked, as if at some private joke. “Besides, like I said, Stiles is witchborn. The chance that the bite would kill him is much higher than in the average human.” 

Derek made a face. “True. But why isn’t Protected Human status good enough for McCall? He’s arranged it for the rest of his family, and for the families of the other Betas.”

Deaton gently swirled the water in his glass. “Stiles is powerful,” he said finally. “I’ve been training him myself, and I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a big reason why the pack has been able to survive everything that’s been thrown at them in past year.”

Derek grunted in acknowledgement. “My father filled me in,” he admitted. “Rogue hunters, rogue Alphas, kanimas…”

“Peter,” Deaton muttered.

Derek scowled, stung. “The boy should be with his own kind. Not humans,” he added. “Witches. One of their clans should take him in.” 

Now Deaton made a face.

“What?” Derek demanded.

Deaton hesitated, then drained his glass and set it down on the oak table with a soft clink. “Scott and Stiles have been friends their entire lives. Stiles has been living with Scott and his family since he was thirteen.”

For some reason, some nameless instinct, Derek didn’t want to know. But he asked anyway. “What happened when he was thirteen?”

Deaton sighed. “Stiles' mother was the youngest daughter of an ancient Eastern European clan—ancestral witches—and by all accounts the apple of their eye. Her parents arranged a marriage with the scion of another major family. The negotiations happened when both parties were still in their cradles.” Deaton fixed his calm dark eyes on Derek. “The sort of thing your people used to do, until quite recently.” 

Derek shrugged impatiently, his irritation growing. “So?”

“So…” Deaton toyed with the glass, his movements uncharacteristically restless. “At the last minute, Anna eloped with someone else. An American soldier stationed overseas.”

“Let me guess,” Derek said sardonically. “Name of Stilinksi?”

“Yes. And a good man,” Deaton said quietly. “They were…ridiculously in love. The kind of thing most of us never experience. We only see it in the movies, or read about it in books.” His eyes flicked to Derek’s, then away. “Anyway, they came to the states and went into hiding. Anna used every magical ward she knew to keep them safe. And it worked. They lived a very normal life, and Stiles never showed any sign of having inherited his mother’s powers. Anna was relieved,” he added. “She wanted a normal life for her son.”

“You knew them?” Derek asked.

Deaton gave a curt nod, pressing his lips together. “Then Stiles turned thirteen and—”

“All hell broke loose?” Derek asked. “It happens in wolf families sometimes,” he explained at Deaton’s sharp look. “Most of us shift from birth, but sometimes it’s delayed. And when it is, the experience is more…traumatic.” He winced, thinking of Peter again.

“Exactly,” Deaton said grimly. “And as you know, every magical being in a hundred-mile radius is aware of that kind of power spike. My office is warded all to hell, against wolves and witches and what-have-yous, but the first time Stiles walked through the door he blew every damn light bulb in the place.” 

Derek flinched in spite of himself. “So it was only a matter of time before…”

“Word spread.” Deaton shrugged. “We still don’t know who came for them. It could have been his mother’s family, or the jilted clan. An honor thing. Or it could have been another witch wanting to take his power.”

Derek didn’t have to ask. “The parents died,” he said. “Protecting him.”

“Yes.” Deaton nodded. “But.” He held up a finger again. “The others died, too.”

Derek felt shock run down his spine, and he shivered. “The ones who came for him?”

“Yes.”

“Stiles killed them?”

“Yes. I don’t think he even knew what he was doing,” Deaton added. “It was just instinct. He unleashed so much power it burned the entire house down. At that point my order stepped in — and you know how far things have to get before we’re willing to take that risk,” he said sternly.

“I do,” Derek nodded.

“We managed to spread a rumor that Stiles had died in the fire along with his parents. He moved in with Scott and his family. Then Peter bit Scott and the others and…” Deaton spread his hands wide. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Why didn’t you send Stilinksi away?” Derek asked, appalled. “His presence could only draw attention to the pack, especially if he’s been using magic to protect them.”

Deaton tilted his head again. “It seemed…cruel,” he said finally, “to separate him from Scott when he’d just lost his parents. The two had always been like brothers. And Stiles has proved himself quite useful on occasion.”

“So much so that McCall thinks he deserves wolf status?”

“I think it’s more about keeping his friend safe,” Deaton murmured reprovingly. “Scott is very protective of the people he loves. It’s why he was willing to negotiate this treaty, despite the loss of status it will mean for him.”

“And if we refuse? Surely McCall doesn’t think he can win if it comes to a fight. What’s to stop us, or any other clan, from taking his territory by force?”

“As I said, the pack has had formal offers from other clans, a clear sign that they wish to avoid bloodshed. Given the amount of bad publicity your uncle generated, does the Hale family really want to sully its name further through the wanton slaughter of a pack of teenagers?”

“Shit.” Thoroughly frustrated, Derek got up and paced the room. He felt like he was being pushed into a corner, a feeling he hated above all. It went along with being the youngest — always outnumbered, always outgunned. 

Derek flexed his fingers, resisting the urge to extend his claws again. Of course he felt stifled, he told himself, being in this damn building all day long. Even in law school, he’d had the chance to stretch his legs between classes, to feel the breeze on his face, even if he couldn’t shift. (A giant wolf on the UCLA campus would have caused a ruckus, and there was nothing Derek’s mother hated more than a ruckus.)

Derek scowled down at the busy streets below. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and even through the glass and metal, Derek could feel the air outside growing blessedly cooler. Night was falling now, the lights of cars blinking on along the illuminated ribbons of highway. 

Derek almost groaned in exhaustion. He was supposed to meet Kate for a drink in an hour, at whatever trendy venue she had chosen for this week. Derek always let her pick the restaurant, the movie, whatever. Hell, he let her pick his clothes.

Unconsciously, he loosened the tie around his neck another notch.

Frankly, he thought, on a night like tonight he’d be much happier kicking back at the beach house, drinking a ‘bane beer, listening to water crashing along the shore, and watching the moon come up. They'd make slow, lazy love, then curl up and drift off to sleep, lulled by the song of the waves. Or shift in the moonlight and run along the sand together, splashing in the surf as carefree as puppies.

Derek grimaced. If there was anything Kate wasn’t, it was _slow_ or _lazy_ , let alone _carefree_. It’s why they made such a great couple. Kate had the drive that Derek lacked, the fierce discipline and focus that made up for Derek’s impulsive nature. At least that’s what Laura always said.

Besides, Derek reminded himself, he owed it to Kate. She was _not_ happy about him taking this assignment, to say the least. She saw it as a humiliating loss of stature, even though Derek had explained why it was so important to his family.

“I’ll be gone six months, tops,” he promised her. “And once I show I can clean up this mess, my father will trust me with more important packs.”

Kate sighed and tossed her honey-brown hair, ruby lips pouting prettily. After a moment, she smiled, showing her sharp teeth.

“The Alpha must be obeyed,” she murmured. She lay back in bed, one naked leg artfully draped outside the satin sheets. Then she flung her head back against the pillows, baring her long, elegant neck in submission.

Derek’s felt the shift deep inside him. He growled long and low as his fangs come out, drops of moisture beading on each sharp ivory tip, then falling on the sheets below, darkening the glossy fabric. He inched slowly up Kate’s body, heart pounding in his chest, arms shaking with effort to hold his arousal in check. He paused with his teeth only inches from the fragile skin of Kate’s throat. With a small cry, she shuddered, signaling her surrender. Derek pounced, his fang biting deep as Kate’s own shift erupted through her body. Her claws sank into his back, shredding his tattoo, and—

“Alpha Hale?”

Derek jumped, his heart in his throat. He realized Deaton still sat at the table, his expression even more inscrutable in the falling shadows. 

Derek cursed his traitorous body and rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I’ll have to speak with my father on this matter. I don’t have authorization—”

“Your father already knows,” Deaton interrupted smoothly.

Derek gaped at him. “What the hell?”

Deaton smiled thinly. “I spoke with your father over the phone during preliminary negotiations and explained the situation. Given the circumstances, he was willing to make an exception in this case, especially once I showed him the research I’d done.”

Derek sputtered in mingled fury and embarrassment. “Then why didn’t my father brief me? Why wasn’t it in the paperwork?”

“While there is precedent for granting a human wolf status,” Deaton said delicately, “the situation might case some…embarrassment for your family. Especially given—”

“Especially given the antics of my recently deceased batshit crazy uncle.”

“As you said.” Deaton inclined his head politely. Derek clenched his fists, claws biting into his palms as he fought the urge to rip the man’s throat out. 

“Besides,” Deaton continued blithely, unaware of his imminent demise. “There are security considerations. My order went to a great deal of trouble to make it look like Stiles was dead. If word got out—”

“Are you suggesting my family is untrustworthy?” Derek snapped.

“Alpha Hale,” Deaton said smoothly. “Not only are your family the most powerful wolf clan in Southern California, they are also well-known in the human world. This corporation employs thousands of people who have no idea of the company’s true origins.”

Derek stepped closer, his voice sinking to a growl. “Are you blackmailing my family, Doctor Deaton? Threatening to expose us?”

“Not at all, Alpha.” Deaton spread his hands, palms open in a gesture of peace. “To do to would be completely unreasonable. Not to mention unnecessary and downright suicidal.” He chuckled to himself, amused by some private joke again, and Derek felt his face burn in embarrassment at his over-reaction.

 _This is why you need to work on your control, Derek_. It was his mother’s voice, gentle but firm, and always with that hint of disappointment.

Derek folded his arms, feeling the familiar sting of shame. “What, then?”

“People talk, Alpha.” Deaton said bluntly. “Wolves, witches, humans. It doesn’t matter the species — we all gossip. Leaving Stiles’ status out of the official contract safeguards both your family’s good name and also serves the purposes of the pack I am officially representing.”

Deaton smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. “At any rate, when I suggested discretion your father was most amendable. So, rather than being in writing, this clause of the contract is considered a verbal agreement.” Deaton paused. “Feel free to check with your father if you don’t believe me.”

Derek growled again, feeling his jaw tighten as his fangs pricked the surface of his gums. To even suggest that Derek couldn’t tell if the human was lying was tantamount to a huge insult, and Deaton knew it.

Derek took another step forward, feeling a tingling sensation on the back of his neck as his hackles rose.

“Stop!” Deaton snapped. The word was accompanied by a _frisson_ of power that made the lights flicker overhead.

Suddenly, Derek’s limbs wouldn’t move. He felt as if he were frozen to the floor. Worst of all, his shift had ceased. “How dare you?” he snarled. “How dare you use magic in my family’s place of business?”

Deaton’s face was almost entirely in shadow now. “Ask yourself,” he murmured, “would I be willing to risk my neck, pun intended, if this matter weren’t of vital importance?”

Derek hesitated. Deaton slowly stood to his full height, then leaned forward, moving into the light, his fists resting on the table and his face set like stone.

“Take the deal, Alpha Hale,” he ordered. “Too many innocent lives are at stake. Too many have died already. Do your father’s bidding and take the deal. Besides,” he grinned suddenly, showing his teeth again. “Something tells me you might find life in Beacon Hills quite…agreeable.”

“Fine!” Derek hissed. “I’ll take the deal.” 

“Excellent.” Deaton leaned back, and Derek felt the spell snap. He extended a claw and slashed it across his palm. Blood welled up, dripping on the papers below. Several drops landed on the exact spot where Derek had carefully written the name _Stilinski_ in bold black letters.

Deaton offered his hand, and Derek made a small cut in the man's dark skin. As the blood oozed out, Derek thrust his hand across the table, and Deaton took it. When their bloody palms pressed together, electricity sparked between their hands, flaring sharply and then winking out.

Derek stumbled back in shock, his ears ringing, thunder in his chest.

Deaton grinned again, as casually as if they had been discussing the weather. “Congratulations, Alpha Hale,” he said. “The Beacon Hills pack is yours. We’ll see you in a week.”

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Halfway up the coast, Derek realized he was driving 90 miles an hour, his hands clenched on the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched and tense.

He pulled over at a gas station to fuel up, then took a few moments to stretch, reminding himself that he wasn’t in Los Angeles anymore and didn’t have to drive like he was going into battle.

He drove more slowly after that, and as he starting wending his way up the mountain roads, he rolled down the windows of the Camaro, enjoying the cooler air and the scent of the pines. The trees grew taller and closer together as he drove inland, mingled sun and shadow flickering overhead.

Derek could feel his chest loosen and his breathing deepen. Even getting to drive, let alone the Camaro, was a treat, he realized. In LA, he usually took the company limo, so at least if he got stuck in traffic he could get some work done. And it wasn’t worth it to drive the Camaro in the city and risk getting jacked – not that Derek was afraid for his personal safety. He was just afraid for his car.

He needed to get out of LA more often, he decided. His therapist had suggested the same thing earlier that week.

“It might do you some good to take a break for a few months,” she suggested, looking at him over the tops of her silver-framed glasses. (Even werewolves experienced poorer eyesight as they aged.) “Spend some quiet time in Mother Nature. Especially given your upcoming…responsibilities.”

Derek winced at the thought. He and Kate had parted on less than amiable terms, resulting in an angry phone call from his sister as he sat in traffic that morning.

_“Derek Hale, I cannot believe you left town without putting a collar around that girl’s neck! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for her?”_

_“Good morning to you, too, sis.” Derek scowled at the cars in front of him. This was the part where driving a vintage car was inconvenient — there was no onboard traffic map to help him plan a faster route._

_“You took her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant. You went for a walk on Santa Monica pier. You took her on the freaking Ferris Wheel. You were supposed to bite her neck and propose! It’s all over the gossip sites that you didn’t. Kate and I got photographed at the gym this morning. At the gym!”_

_“So?”_

_“So, we should have been photographed at a sidewalk café, sipping mimosas and planning your engagement party, you brat.”_

_“I’m not ready, Laura,” Derek growled through gritted teeth. He didn’t add that he’d gotten to the top of the Ferris Wheel, the Hale family heirloom engagement collar in the pocket of his suit coat, and then chickened out._

_“Baby brother.” Laura’s voice was affectionate now, if exasperated. “What are you waiting for? We’ve known Kate our whole lives. Mom and Dad adore her. She’s my best friend—"_

_“You marry her, then.” Derek honked his horn at the car in front of his. “Who stops on the yellow, motherfucker?” he bellowed at the driver, who ignored him._

_“Derek,” Laura admonished. “You and Kate are bond-mates.”_

_“So are you and Marcus, and I don’t see you getting engaged.”_

_“That’s different,” Laura huffed._

_“How?”_

_Laura sighed impatiently. Derek could picture her rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows it’s just a formality. Nobody expects you to honor it if you’re not interested. But you and Kate have a real connection. I wish I had that with Marcus, but I don’t.”_

_She sounded wistful, now. As usual, Derek hated it when anyone he loved was in pain. “You’ll find someone, sis. Just give it time.”_

_“Face it, Derek. I’m going to die an old unmated.”_

_“Hardly.” Derek snorted. The light changed — finally — and he barreled through the intersection, heading for the on-ramp. “You just need to find someone who’s as smart as you and who’s not intimidated by the Hale name.”_

_“How about I date a guy who's a meatdigger and only wants me **because** of my name? That should work out just swell.”_

_“Alec was an asshole,” Derek said sternly. “You dodged wolfsbane with that one."_

_"Tell me something I don't know," Laura said gloomily._

_"The right wolf will come along, I promise.”_

_“Hmmm.” Laura sounded unconvinced. “Just do one thing,” she wheedled. “For me.”_

_“Anything,” Derek promised. “What is it?”_

_“Call Kate and apologize.”_

_“What’s that?” Derek held the phone farther away from his ear. “Laura? I’m sorry, you’re breaking up. I must be losing the signal.”_

_“Dammit, Derek—“_

_“I’m getting on the freeway now,” Derek yelled. “I’ll call you later. Love you, sis!”_

_“Jerk!” Laura hung up, and Derek tossed his phone on the passenger seat, grinning._

Now, he turned up the steep mountain road that led to Beacon Hills, and felt his stomach clench with anxiety. He forced himself to breathe deeply and gave himself a little pep talk in the rear view mirror.

“Don’t be a pup, Hale,” he told his reflection sternly. “You got this.”

He reminded himself that he had been through years of Alpha training and read every book on the subject, not to mention having the benefit of his father’s example all his life. Over the past few weeks, he’d spent hours studying the situation in Beacon Hills, going over the first-wolf accounts of what had happened under Peter and studying the profiles of the Betas. And he had successfully concluded the contract negotiations, even with the last-minute addition of a human Omega.

Surely his father had every confidence in Derek’s ability to bring the wayward pack under control, Derek told himself, otherwise he wouldn’t have assigned it to him. After all, there were plenty of other Hales to choose from. (Although Derek couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was being sent away as punishment for something, some lapse in judgment, or worse yet, some basic lack in who he was.)

Derek shook off the feeling and focused instead on his conversation with his father at breakfast that morning.

_”Any advice for me, Dad?” Derek asked, breaking the silence that had reigned over the table since he arrived. (He had a feeling his parents had been discussing his disastrous evening with Kate.)_

_His mother, Kara, delicately touched her cloth napkin to each corner of her lips. “That’s my cue to leave,” she murmured. “I have a busy day of shopping planned with Kate.” She didn’t mention that they’d been planning on shopping for a wedding gown — then again, she didn’t need to. Derek got the message_

_He and his father, Grayson Hale, stood as Kara rose from her seat._

_“I’m sorry, Mom,” Derek said miserably. “I didn’t mean you should leave.”_

_“Nonsense,” Kara said briskly. “This is one of those man-to-man talks where a mother should make herself absent. Try not to break out the brandy and cigars over the breakfast table, love,” she told Grayson, kissing his cheek._

_“Yes, Dear,” Grayson answered, earning a smile from his mate._

_Kara approached Derek and cupped his face with both be-ringed hands. “Skype me,” she said lightly._

_“I will, Mom, I promise.”_

_Kara patted his cheek with her fingertips and then left the room in a cloud of Chanel No. 5._

_Grayson and Derek sat again, and Grayson nodded to the uniformed Omega hovering nearby. “That will be all, thank you, Margery.”_

_“Very good, Alpha.” She turned to Derek. “Derek, can I get you anything before I go? More coffee, perhaps?’ She stroked his dark hair fondly, a privilege of having raised him since he was a pup._

_“I’m good, Margery, thanks.” Derek smiled up at her, giving her hand a little squeeze._

_Margery’s eyes were sad, but she beamed proudly at him. “Little pup, all grown up,” she sing-songed. “Bites a pack, takes them back.” It had been Derek’s favorite nursery rhyme as a child._

_“Thank you, Margery,” Grayson repeated pointedly._

_Margery dropped her gaze from Derek’s, then left the room, closing the door behind her._

_Derek looked at his father. To his surprise, the older wolf pushed his empty plate away and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly._

_“Are you all right?”_

_“Of course.” Grayson gave a quick smile and replaced his spectacles. "Your mother is sad to see you go. She just doesn't want to make it harder for you by showing it."_

_"I know that, Dad."_

_“So. You asked for advice,” Grayson continued, folding his hands on the table. “My advice is, go easy on your Betas.”_

_Derek choked on his orange juice. “Seriously?”_

_Grayson raised an intimidatingly bushy eye brow. “Do I sound like I’m joking?’_

_“No, I mean…” Derek nervously fiddled with his napkin. “Whatever happened to ‘The Alpha must be obeyed’?”_

_“It’s true, the Alpha _must_ be obeyed,” his father stated. “It is the very basis of our civilization, our culture. But in this case…”_

_He paused, then sighed heavily. “These aren’t Born wolves you’re dealing with, son. They’re Bitten, some of them against their will. You know how long it’s been since that was allowed. And God only knows what Peter taught them.”_

_Grayson shook his head sadly at the thought. “Think of all the things you and I take for granted.” He gestured to the sunny, opulent breakfast room around them, then at the oversized windows. Outside, impeccably maintained gardens sloped from the mansion down to the cliffs and the sea beyond. “The order, the structure, the discipline, the education — all of this is new to them. In some ways, they are closer to our wild ancestors than to you and me.”_

_“Okay,” Derek said slowly. “So…?”_

_Grayson smiled at his son, his eyes becoming less distant. “So be patient with them. Don’t assume the worst. Don’t just give orders — **listen**. A pack is built on obedience, true — but obedience given out of love will always be stronger than that given out of fear.” _

Thunder rumbled overhead, and raindrops hit the windshield with a sudden rattling noise, startling Derek out of his reverie. He realized he had reached the outskirts of Beacon Hills. 

The town wasn’t much to speak of, to be honest: A grocery store, a gas station, several bars. There was an industrial and warehouse district, now mostly abandoned. On the other side of town, new developments had sprung up, signaling a small economic rebirth. 

Beacon Hills had a small but thriving energy and telecommunications industry, Derek had learned in his research, that served the needs of even smaller towns further up in the foothills and beyond. There was also a branch of the state university system, a community/vocational college, a mall, and a high school. 

Derek eyed the building suspiciously on the way past, noting banners proclaiming a homecoming dance and an upcoming lacrosse meet. Several of the tragic events of Peter’s reign had taken place in the school and on the nearby playing field, Derek knew. Local law enforcement had even been involved, but so far any hint of the supernatural had been quashed, no doubt by Deaton and his order. 

Derek noted the veterinarian’s office as he drove by, but he didn’t stop. The last time Deaton had spoken to Derek over the phone, he had asked him not to. 

“I can’t afford to draw attention to myself in any way,” he warned. “I’ve worked too hard to establish my cover.” 

“I understand,” Derek said. 

“We’ll meet in the normal course of events,” Deaton added. “Your arrival will be big news in Beacon Hills, even among humans, and some busybody will no doubt introduce us. In the meantime, of course, I am available for consultation by phone.” 

“Thank you,” Derek replied. But he got the distinct impression Deaton would appreciate it if Derek never took him up on the offer. 

Derek turned off the main street and headed out of town on the road to the Hale property, which lay within the protective ring of the nature preserve. The rain eased up, the sun came out again, and Derek was enjoying the solitary drive — until the Camaro broke down. 

The car didn’t sputter, didn’t struggle, didn’t choke. It simply stopped moving. 

In the middle of the damn forest. 

And refused to start again. 

Derek shoved the car off to the side of the road, popped the hood, stared at helplessly at the engine for several minutes, then closed the hood again. 

"Shit,” he said. He pulled out his cell phone and noticed with annoyance that the signal was gone. “ _Shit_.” 

There was nothing for it but to walk. Derek knew from the map that he was less than a mile from the old Hale house. He hoisted his laptop case over his shoulder and set out through the woods. 

He carried the map with him, but after a few minutes he realized he didn’t need it. Some instinct was leading him on, some pull deep in his chest that told him exactly which way to go. 

His senses were sharpened as well. As he picked his way through the towering trees, he was aware of every raindrop falling to the forest floor, every bird singing, and the heartbeat of every furry mammal for a mile. The scents were overpowering, from damp earth to pine. Even the air smelled fresher and cleaner. 

The forest was equally aware of him, Derek realized. As he passed, the birdsong quieted and the heartbeats faded. The feeling of familiarity and belonging grew. This was _his_ territory, Derek realized, his home, in a way the city had never been. 

Maybe Peter was right, Derek mused. Maybe werewolves had become too urbanized, too removed from their origins and instincts. What they had gained in wealth and power by assimilating, by hiding in plain sight, they had lost in their essential nature. 

He smiled fondly, remembering his uncle’s rants on the subject. Perhaps Peter had a point. Perhaps wolves had become too inbred, too timid, too _domesticated_. 

Then again, Derek reminded himself sternly, Peter had clearly demonstrated the dangers of running wild, with tragic results for himself and his innocent victims. Derek couldn’t imagine his sophisticated family feeling at home in the shabby town of Beacon Hills, let alone this remote place. And Kate? The very idea was laughable. 

At that very moment, laughter rang out through the trees. 

Derek paused. 

The laughter came again, followed by shouts, cheering, and the occasional whistle. The sounds were coming from the trees ahead, where the road turned toward Hale House. 

Derek started forward again, his shoes crunching on the gravel of the road as he walked. The rain resumed, just a light shower pattering softly through the leaves. 

As Derek rounded the bend in the road, the laughter and shouts grew louder. The trees thinned out, and he caught sight of the house. 

Derek stopped in his tracks, feeling a sudden clutch in his chest. The feeling of familiarity and belonging came back, stronger than ever. 

There was a wide swath of neatly mown grass between the house and the forest. Through the trees, Derek could see figures running back and forth across the lawn in a seemingly random manner, laughing and calling to one another as they waved sticks about. 

Derek felt a strong pull, deep inside, impossible to resist. 

The rain came down harder as he walked out from the trees and stepped onto the lawn. The figures instantly stopped running — bodies frozen in high alert — and turned to stared at him as Derek got the first glimpse of his pack. 


	3. Chapter 3

The Betas were ranged across the lawn, except for one who sat alone on the steps of the porch. They were utterly still, in full fight-or-flight tension, their eyes fixed on Derek. They were in human form, but for some reason were carrying sticks and wearing helmets that elongated their faces, giving them a wolfish appearance. They looked exactly what they were — a powerful and ancient race of predators.

For a moment, every creature in the clearing stood frozen in tableau. The birds had gone silent, and the only sound was the rustle of the rain in the trees.

 _If I were a bunny rabbit_ , Derek found himself thinking, _I’d be so screwed right now_.

Then the girl on the porch stood, and the spell was broken. She had a full head of red curls, and although she was physically small, something about the way she carried herself reminded Derek forcibly of Kate.

The girl started to walk across the lawn toward him, but one of the lacrosse players reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

Because that’s what they were, Derek realized — a bunch of teenagers playing lacrosse on the lawn. He recognized the equipment now, although he wasn’t familiar with the sport. At least one of the players was a girl, judging by her long blonde braid.

He took another step into the clearing, and a twig snapped under his foot with a sound like a gunshot, breaking the silence.

Another player, the one standing closest to Derek, pulled off his helmet and walked toward him. He was an unlikely mix of wiry muscle and a baby face, topped by soft dark curls. He stopped a few feet away from Derek, eyeing him warily.

 _Move, dumbass_ , Derek told himself. He straightened his shoulders and took another step forward with what he hoped was an air of confident authority.

“I’m Derek Hale,” he said, pitching his voice so it carried around the clearing.

The boy jerked his chin in greeting. “Scott McCall.” 

Derek recognized him now from his profile. He was the boy Peter attacked, the one who had brokered the deal — willingly relinquishing his Alpha potential in order to safeguard his pack.

McCall must have read Derek’s expression, because he gave a thin, sardonic smile.

“Should we get this over with?” he asked.

Derek blinked. “Why not?” he replied finally, reminding himself that McCall was Bitten, not Born, and probably unversed in wolf protocol.

McCall nodded, and to Derek’s further surprise, shifted into full wolf form. He was a lean and powerful beast, his lush, dark-brown fur mimicking his human hair.

This was definitely not what Derek was expecting. Back in LA, such formalities were conducted in lengthy and elaborate ceremonies — and always in human form.

McCall cocked his head at Derek, curious and a bit impatient.

 _When in Beacon Hills_ , Derek reminded himself. He set his laptop case on the ground, then wolfed out.

As always, he felt a sense of comfort and ease, accompanied by guilt.

 _Derek, honey._ It was his mother’s voice, after she caught him tearing around the mansion in puppy mode. _Mommy needs you to be a big boy now. We’ll have to speak to Margery about this,_ she added to his father. _She’s too lax._

McCall trotted forward, his tail down, signaling submission. When he reached Derek, he flopped over on his back and tipped his head away, baring his neck. 

Derek sniffed McCall’s fur, taking in his unique scent—an unusual mixture of _playful_ and _strong_ and _stubborn_ and _kind_.

He bit deep in McCall’s neck, piercing the skin and drawing blood. For a moment, there was a ringing in Derek’s ears, a pounding in his chest, and a flood of emotion he could only describe as a sense of rightness and order.

McCall whined, but didn’t struggle. 

After a moment, Derek licked the wound. It would seal, but unlike other wolf injuries, the scar would remain, even when McCall was in human form.

Derek moved back and gave a bark of permission. McCall scrambled up, still wolfed out, and yipped at the rest of the pack.

One by one, the other Betas stripped off their helmets and gear and came forward. 

The oldest, Vernon Boyd, was also the largest and most powerful, his fur a handsome ebony that complemented his dark skin. His scent spoke of solidity and permanence and a sense of responsibility at odds with his youth, overlaid with tenderness and patience.

Erica Reyes was next. Derek knew she was Boyd’s mate and, like him, had asked Peter for the Bite. Her wolf form was sleek, her fur a startling white. She was more hesitant than the males, trembling under Derek’s teeth. There was vulnerability in her scent and an almost desperate longing to belong, coupled with fierce determination and courage.

Isaac Lahey was tentative as well, radiating fear. But his scent hinted at depths of bravery and loyalty. Of all the Betas so far, he had the most powerful instinct for sheer _survival_ —the will to live at all costs. Derek could smell it on him. It was a heady scent, and Derek knew somehow that he could work with it, help Isaac build on that foundation to bring out his other qualities.

Jackson Whittemore was the last of those who had asked Peter for the Bite. He stood the furthest away from Derek on the lawn, and was the player who had stopped the red-haired girl from approaching. When his turn arrived, he swaggerd toward Derek in human form, his face resentful, and stopped a few feet away, planting his feet in a stubborn stance. 

McCall growled at him. 

Jackson folded his arms and didn’t move.

The red-haired girl walked up behind him, gently placed her hand on his shoulder, and kissed the back of his neck.

“Jackson,” she murmured against his skin.

Jackson’s handsome face twisted into an ugly snarl, but he dropped to the ground in wolf form and submitted to Derek. His scent stank of confidence and arrogance and even cruelty, but underneath was a feeling of abandonment and shame so overwhelming it made Derek want to howl in sympathy.

With each bite, Derek experienced the same bone-deep feelings of rightness and knowing, accompanied by a sense of warmth and belonging like he’d never felt before, even with the members of his own family. As he returned to human form, he finally recognized the feeling. It was _pack_.

The red-haired girl walked forward. Her eyes were enormous and expressive (and at this moment, filled with scorn) and her posture spoke of a woman who knew she was beautiful and knew exactly how to work it.

Derek realized she was Lydia Martin, Jackson’s mate. She was the other teen who was bitten by Peter against her will — although it turned out she was immune to the Bite. Despite this, she was considered a full member of the pack. Looking at her, Derek felt a sudden stab of sympathy for anyone who tried to tell her she _wasn’t_ pack.

Lydia put her hand on her hip and flipped her hair in a flounce that would have made Laura proud.

“Don’t even think about biting my neck,” she cooed, showing her teeth in a smile.

Rather than being offended, Derek found himself smiling back. 

“Your wrist, perhaps?” he offered politely.

Lydia paused for a moment, her glossy lips twisting in thought.

“Fine,” she said airily and thrust out her arm, dripping with bracelets

As gently as he could, Derek took Lydia’s hand and sniffed along her wrist, aware of the fragility of her beautiful skin. As with Jackson, there was a world of pain in her scent, but accompanied by a fierce sense of pride. Derek could almost read her thoughts: _Don’t you dare pity me_. He was also struck by her sharp intelligence, quick temper, and protectiveness toward those she loved.

Derek located a spot just above Lydia’s wrist, out of danger of hitting a vein, then extended his fangs and bit delicately. Lydia jerked, but didn’t whimper. A few beads of blood rose to the surface, and Derek licked them away, then pressed a soft kiss to the spot.

“Okay?” he asked.

Lydia calmly examined her wrist. There were two tiny white scars, barely visible on her pale skin. 

“Perfect,” she declared. “Jackson can buy me a new cuff to cover it. Something big and gold and expensive.”

Jackson whined, but stopped at her glare.

Lydia turned her gorgeous eyes to the sky. “And now can we please get out of the rain?” she asked pointedly. “This humidity is making my hair poof.”

“Of course.” Derek picked up his laptop satchel and followed Lydia up the lawn to the house. 

The Betas gamboled about them in wolf form, wagging their tails and nipping at each other playfully. As they reached the porch, they shifted with the same ease as before and piled up the steps _en masse_.

Scott must have sensed Derek’s shock. (For some reason, Derek now thought of the boy by his first, rather than last name.)

“Guys,” Scott said softly.

The others froze, even Lydia, then backed away from the door and allowed Derek to enter first.

Inside, Derek was struck by another overwhelming sense of familiarity. A memory presented itself — he and Laura, exploring the house in wolf form, scampering up and down the main steps and eagerly sniffing every dusty corner. The rooms were chilly and damp then, the furniture covered with sheets and the windows with heavy drapes.

Now, the house still bore the same wonderful scent of pine and stone and _age_ , but it was warm and cozy and dry, even with the rain outside, and smelled of fresh paint and wood smoke. There was painting going on in some rooms, scaffolding and ladders leaning against the walls, paint cans and tarps neatly stacked nearby.

Derek remembered the Betas' cover story was that they were doing community service on evenings and weekends by rehabbing the old mansion. Deaton had pulled strings behind the scenes to make the arrangements. Given the amount of trouble most of the teens had gotten into with law enforcement, it certainly seemed plausible.

Derek realized with a start that the group was watching him closely.

“Have you been here before?” Erica asked curiously. Her hair was escaping her braid and curling about her face, giving her a softer look.

“Once.” Derek nodded. “When I was a pup.”

“We mainly hang out in here,” Isaac indicated the other wing of the house. Derek followed the gesture, his footsteps echoing in the high ceiling overhead as he walked past the main stairwell and through the arched doorway.

He grasped at once why this was the teens’ hangout. It was a large, comfortable room, unlike the formal dining room and parlor that made up the other wing across the hall. There was an enormous couch, with large cushions scattered haphazardly about, and a television with a gaming system hooked up.

A huge, sturdy, scarred wooden table ran the length of one set of windows. Derek knew the table was at least a hundred years old, although now it was piled with textbooks, laptops, and empty pop cans. There were hooks on a wall nearby, draped with several jackets, muddy boots flung carelessly underneath. 

The kitchen lay just beyond the great room, and through the far windows Derek could see a vegetable and herb garden. If he remembered the lay of the house, the back door of the kitchen opened out onto the garden. When his ancestors built the home, they had relied on the garden and the surrounding woods for food, drawing their water from a nearby creek until the well was dug.

The best part of all was the _quiet_. There were no phones ringing, no car horns honking or sirens blaring. Even the ever-present white noise of constant traffic was gone. Derek felt his chest expanding, his shoulders relaxing further. His heart swelled. He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you check the comments for Chapter 2, there are some more details in my conversation with AlecMcDowell, kind of a backstory on this 'verse. They aren't really necessary to follow the story, but they do fill in some background detail if you're interested.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints of past abuse in this chapter. Trigger warnings apply.

Derek realized the Betas were watching him closely, trying to gauge his reaction. It was much harder to sense another wolf’s mood and intent in human form — beyond a basic heartbeat and energy level — especially for those so young.

Derek gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It must have worked, because the pack visibly relaxed.

He indicated the table. “Shall we sit?”

They scrambled over each other for seats, except for Isaac, who disappeared into the kitchen and returned with bottles of water, tossing them to the others, who caught them easily.

“I wanted a Red Wolf,” Jackson groused.

“We’re out. Sorry,” Isaac added as he offered a water bottle to Derek, his face hopeful and anxious. “Um, I think we have some Lupinade. Or tea.”

“This is fine,” Derek said firmly. Usually, there would have been a ceremonial offering of food to the Alpha at this point in the proceedings, but he remembered his father’s admonition and didn’t press the issue.

Isaac beamed at him and sat with the others. Again, they watched Derek closely, their expressions those of mingled expectation, fear, and truculence (Jackson).

Derek took a deep breath, pulled his laptop from his satchel, and booted it up. Then he pulled out a stack of papers, neatly clipped together into packets, and passed them to the teens.

“Sorry,” he said as he did. “The Clan Council swears they’re going to get the whole process online one of these days. In the meantime, we’ll mail these in and at least get you usernames so you can access your accounts. They say to allow four weeks, but knowing them, it could be longer—”

He broke off as he realized the Betas were staring at him in utter bewilderment.

Derek frowned back in puzzlement. Then—

“Pens!” he said, realizing the problem. “You need pens.” He grabbed a handful of pens from his satchel, each one bearing the logo of the Hale Corporation, and passed them out as well. “The forms are in triplicate, naturally. Apparently the Council’s never heard of photocopiers either.” 

He smiled at his own joke, but with met with silence. The Betas looked at the forms, the pens, each other, and back at Derek.

Derek scratched the back of his neck nervously. _Stop that_ , he told himself. _Act like an Alpha_. “And of course,” he continued, folding his hands on the table to keep from fidgeting, “I’ll want to meet with each of you one-on-one—”

The pack froze, the pen snapping audibly in Boyd’s grip. Derek felt the surge of terror as the Betas' heartbeats spiked. Their faces were ashen, and if they were in wolf form, the whites of their eyes would be showing.

“Like Peter did?” Isaac asked in a tiny voice.

“No, not like Peter,” Derek said automatically, although he wasn’t sure what Isaac meant. “I just want to get to know each of personally—”

“Like Peter did?” Isaac’s voice rose to a squeak, his eyes widening further. If he were wolfed out, his tail would be between his legs.

“No!” Derek said, alarmed by his reaction. “What do you — oh, _crap_ ,” he said as it finally clicked. He put his head in his hands for a long moment.

The Betas were silent, vibrating with anxiety.

Derek scrubbed his hand across his mouth, trying to tamp down nausea. He knew his next words were crucial. 

“Peter was sick,” he said flatly. “He had a twisted idea of what being an Alpha meant. I’m sorry the clan let the situation go on as long as we did. If we’d known…” He stopped, shaking his head. There was no excuse for his family’s negligence, and he knew it.

He looked each of the Betas in turn, willing them to grasp his sincerity. “I swear I will never repeat his crimes, or harm any of you in any way,” he said earnestly. “As an Alpha, my job is to lead the pack and keep it safe, not hurt you. Never that.”

“What about the other thing?” Erica asked softly. Derek noticed she was clinging to Boyd’s hand. 

_Oh, God_ , Derek thought. “What other thing?” he asked calmly.

“He called it the Alpha’s Privilege,” Boyd growled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Derek rose from the table and stomped away, trying to control his rage. He didn’t do very well — his claws and fangs shot out and he could feel his hackles sprouting as he paced back and forth across the floor, growling furiously.

He clenched his fist, driving his claws into his palms. The pain helped, and after a few moments, he stomped back to the table, where the pack members were watching him, eyes wide as saucers.

“No,” he said flatly. “Just…no.”

“But Peter said—“

“I don’t care what Peter said!” Derek snarled. Erica shrank back, and Derek felt instant remorse.

“I’m sorry,” he told her more gently. “Like I said, Peter had some wrong ideas. It will never happen.” He looked at the Jackson and Lydia, then Scott. “Never. I swear.”

The entire pack visibly relaxed again. Scott retracted his claws, which had been digging into the tabletop. Erica sagged against Boyd, who squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head. 

“See?” Lydia whispered to Jackson. “I told you.”

Jackson looked away, blinking rapidly.

Derek let out a deep breath. He realized he had no idea what to do or say next.

At that moment, the Betas froze again. As one, their heads turned toward the front of the house.

After a second, Derek heard it, too — the chugging of a car engine, a badly tuned one from the sound of it.

The Betas relaxed further, smiling. Scott grinned.

“Stiles,” he said, happy as a pup in mud.

Even Jackson looked relieved. “Finally!” he snapped. “I’m starving. Ow!” he added as Lydia punched him in the arm. "What?"

Derek heard a car door slam, followed by footsteps crunching on the gravel drive, then clumping hollowly up the old wooden porch. 

For some reason, Derek found himself holding his breath. He heard the whine of the screen door opening, followed by a bang as it closed.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Derek’s heart beat faster.

At that moment, the sun broke through the clouds. Light streamed in the house, sparkling through the raindrops on the windows and dazzling Derek’s eyes.

Then a lanky figured swaggered into the room, and Derek caught his first glimpse of Stiles Stilinski.


	5. Chapter 5

Unfortunately, the sunlight was so dazzling that Derek couldn’t get a clear sense of the human until Stiles stepped further into the room, his body blocking the glare.

Then his eyes met Derek’s.

Time stopped. Even the dust motes revolving in the beams of sunlight seemed to still, while the silence in the house deepened.

Derek felt…something. Something he couldn’t name. A feeling of familiarity and, at the same time, utter strangeness. 

Stiles must have felt something, too, because his dark eyes widened, his pupils opening into a larger circle. 

His lips parted, forming a small, round O shape.

The moment lasted less than half a heartbeat. Then Stiles blinked, and his expression changed, becoming blank and even dull.

Derek knew no human would have even noticed the shift — their senses were far too sluggish. Derek wasn’t even sure he had glimpsed it himself, or if it was merely a trick of the light. 

Stiles broke eye contact, giving Derek a chance to take in the rest of him. He was a lanky kid, all elbows and angles, with a round face, snub nose, and pale skin. His hair was shaggy and cow-licked, the kind that resisted a brush and did whatever it wanted, no matter the cut. He was tall, but slouched awkwardly rather than taking up his full height. 

He blushed furiously under Derek’s scrutiny, his pulse quickening in anxiety.

Derek dropped his gaze, clearing his throat, and quickly widened the sweep of his senses. Fortunately, the Betas seemed completely unaffected, still lounging at the table while he and Stiles stood.

Scott spoke up, his voice casual. “Dude, where you been?”

Stiles’ face changed again, like quicksilver, his expression shifting into one of annoyance. He hefted the bag of groceries on his hip and waggled it in an exaggerated motion.

“Took you long enough,” Jackson commented. “I’m starving.”

Stiles shot him a lethal glare, then looked back at Derek. Derek didn’t sense anything from the human this time, other than impatience and irritability.

“This is Derek Hale,” Scott put in helpfully.

Stiles rolled his eyes in a gesture that clearly said _No shit_. He scowled at Scott, then put a hand on his hip and pointedly looked up at the clock on the wall.

“Uh, he got here earlier than we thought,” Scott explained.

Stiles gave him another _No shit_ look, then pulled a cell phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and waved it at Scott.

“Yeah, uh, we’ve been kind of busy,” Scott said. “Pack business.”

For a second, Stiles’ eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. Then he shrugged, shoved his phone back in his pocket, and walked toward the kitchen.

Halfway there, he stopped, turned around, and shook the bag of groceries at the pack members.

They instantly scrambled to their feet and dove for the door, several of them climbing over the table in their haste.

“Sorry, dude.”

“We got it.”

“On it, Stiles!”

Stiles continued to the kitchen, disappearing inside. Derek looked on in shock as his pack piled through the doorway and headed outdoors. By rights, no Beta should leave the room without his permission, let alone turn their back in his presence.

Scott cleared his throat. When Derek looked at him, he gave a little grimace, as if to apologize.

Then he stood and went to the doorway of the kitchen. There were rustling noises inside as Stiles unpacked the groceries from the bag.

“Stiles,” Scott said softly.

The rustling grew louder.

Scott pitched his voice higher. “Stiles!” 

The rustling stopped.

“Dude, come on,” Scott wheedled softly. “Just get it over with, before everyone else gets back. It’s not that bad, I swear.”

Stiles gave no answer. 

“Stiles.” Scott lowered his voice even more, and Derek felt a sudden pang of guilt for listening in to what was clearly a private conversation. “Everything will be okay, man, I promise.”

There was a sharp bang, as if a can had been slammed on the counter, followed by a long silence.

Then Stiles slouched out of the kitchen. To Derek’s surprised, he took Scott’s proffered hand and allowed his friend — _brother_ , Derek corrected himself — to lead him to the Alpha.

As he got closer, Derek noticed more details about the boy — the shadows under his eyes, the twitchiness of his fingers, his general air of unease. Stiles studiously avoided Derek’s gaze, his cheeks still stained red in embarrassment, and stopped about a foot away.

Scott gently put his hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades and shoved him forward. Stiles stumbled a little before fetching up less than a hand’s-breadth from Derek. 

Still looking away, he grabbed the collar of his large T-shirt, which he wore under a flannel overshirt, and tugged it aside, baring his neck.

Derek’s wolf stirred.

Stiles’ fingers were thin and clever, Derek noticed in a daze, and while his neck was long and even delicate, the shoulders under his shirt hinted at hidden strength. 

He also noticed the boy was shaking like a leaf, every inch of his body vibrating in terror. 

“I could bite your wrist,” Derek offered quickly. 

Stiles’ eyes slid to Derek’s for a half-second, then away. Then he tilted his neck further to the side and tugged the fabric of his shirt even farther down, revealing his collarbone.

The gesture spoke of vulnerability and courage at the same time.

The wolf surged inside Derek’s, causing his fangs to emerge. His hackles tingled as they rose, and he knew his eyes were flashing red. Without another thought, Derek stepped forward and ran his nose over Stile’s exposed neck, growling in satisfaction as goose bumps rose on the boy’s skin. 

He inhaled deeply, frowning in puzzlement. Stiles’ scent was…odd. Derek couldn’t parse it like he could with the Betas. Maybe it was because Stiles was human, not werewolf. Still…

Derek pressed closer, snuffling along Stiles’ shoulder and collarbone. Stiles’ breathing grew harsh and panicked, and his entire body twitched. Derek grabbed his arms, pulling him closer and holding him still. Stiles whimpered but didn’t move, no doubt aware that if he tried to break away, his skin would be shredded by the Alpha’s claws.

Stiles’ scent was so _frustrating_ , Derek thought. There was pureness there, like clear water and fresh grass. (Inside, Derek’s wolf howled in glee as he realized the boy was a virgin.) But the smell was muddied and dull, overlaid by a scent of _sad_ and _unwell_ , so strong Derek had to stifle a whine of distress, and a bitter metallic tang that made him wrinkle his nose. 

He paused, unsure.

Then Stiles shuddered.

The wolf leapt and bit deep, ignoring Stiles’ sharp inhale as Derek’s teeth sank into this neck. 

Sure enough, the human’s blood had a sharp taste, with a chemical burn that Derek didn’t like. He growled in disapproval. 

At the same time, electricity pulsed erratically within Stiles, like a fly buzzing against a glass window, helplessly seeking freedom. The sensation was so strong Derek felt like his teeth were vibrating, as if he had chomped down on a live wire.

Derek waited for that sense of rightness and belonging, that warm shiver that said _pack_ , but it never came.

Stiles shivered again, his heartbeat spiking in panic. His shaking hand fisted in Derek’s shirt front, clinging tightly to the fabric, and Derek caught the salty smell of tears. He felt something then, but it was deeper than pack, stronger. It was almost…

Scott whined loudly, breaking Derek’s trance.

Horrified, Derek jerked his teeth out of Stiles’ neck, then cursed himself for his clumsiness, as his movement no doubt cause the boy even more pain. Derek hastily licked the blood away — there was far more than when he bit Lydia—and the bitter taste stung his mouth. 

He sheathed his claws and eased his grip on Stiles’ arms, hoping he hadn’t pierced the human’s skin, even though there would be bruising for sure. Then he forced himself to step away, shuffling back an arm’s length before raising his eyes to look at Stiles. 

The boy was staring at him in shock, his eyes wide and wet. His hand was pressed to the wound on his neck, and Derek could see the blood seeping out from underneath his fingers. As Derek watched, Stiles bit his lip until the skin whitened, clearly trying to contain his horror.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said helplessly. 

Stiles dropped his eyes, spun on his heel, and lurched toward the kitchen. Scott caught him in a hug, and to Derek’s surprise, Stiles didn’t fight him. Instead, he dropped his forehead to the shorter boy’s shoulder and linked his fingers together behind his back.

“It’s all right,” Scott murmured, gently rocking him back and forth. “Everything will be okay, I promise.” 

After a moment, Stiles sniffed and nodded. He pulled back from Scott’s embrace and ruffled his hair, then gently shoved his friend aside and disappeared into the kitchen. After a second, Derek heard water running.

Scott looked at Derek, his eyes wide and dark. Derek automatically gave his fiercest scowl in reply and folded his arms, shifting into what he thought of as his Alpha stance. It must have worked, because Scott dropped his eyes in automatic obeisance.

Derek let out a breath, and found to his surprise that he was shaking from head to toe. 

The thunder of footfalls on the front porch, announcing the return of the Betas, made him start. Derek quickly ran a hand over his face, pulling himself together. 

As he did so, he realized to his surprise that the encounter with Stiles had taken mere minutes — and that the boy, now Derek’s Omega, hadn’t spoken a single word the entire time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of past abuse. Trigger warnings apply.

Derek’s senses were still hyper-sensitive, because the Betas sounded more like a herd of elephants than a pack of wolves as they entered, carrying at least a dozen bags of groceries and loudly arguing the merits of double-stuff versus regular Oreos.

Fortunately, they seemed completely oblivious to any lingering tension in the room, except for Boyd. His eyes slid cautiously to Derek and Scott, then away. Derek had the strong sense the eldest Beta had kept the others occupied outside while the ritual was being completed. Perhaps, like Scott, he had wanted to safeguard Stiles’ privacy. 

Derek felt his shoulders relaxing further, followed by a feeling he could only describe as a pleasant exhaustion—a warm, comfortable buzz, not unlike the sensation after downing a few ‘bane beers on a summer afternoon. He found himself blinking sleepily and contemplating the merits of a nap.

He startled as the Betas stampeded out of the kitchen again, chased by Stiles, who flapped a dishtowel at them.

“Dude, we’re _hungry_ ,” Scott whined.

Stiles ducked back into the kitchen and emerged with a bag of apples, several bags of Oreos, and another round of water bottles. He tossed them in the general direction of the pack, and they were snatched out of mid-air, ripped open, and devoured. Stiles then pointed outside, where the sun had chased away the remaining clouds.

The pack stared longingly out the windows, then looked mournfully at the table, still covered in paperwork. They turned to Derek, their expressions those of hopeful puppies.

“Go,” Derek said, with a wave of his hand. “Go finish your game.” 

With a howls of glee, they bundled outside. Lydia followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to gather up the paperwork and take it with her.

Stiles disappeared back into the kitchen before Derek could speak to him, and for some reason he felt reluctant to disturb the Omega in what seemed to be his sanctuary.

Instead, he followed Lydia outside and sat next to her on the steps as she filled out the forms in precise handwriting, occasionally pointing out some of the finer points of the lacrosse game to Derek.

As for him, he used the opportunity to ponder what had just happened.

Derek’s Alpha training had been exact on the specifics of the claiming ritual, but vague on the results, he decided. No one ever talked how it _felt_ to bite a Beta, only that it was necessary to establish full dominance. As a matter of fact, Derek’s questions on the matter had been considered in extremely poor taste.

_“Just memorize the ritual,” his instructor told him stiffly. “Focus on saying the words and performing the movements correctly.”_

_Derek’s father had been no help either. When Derek asked, Grayson had looked at his son over the tops of his glasses, his expression unreadable. Then he folded his morning newspaper in half with a snap, rose from the table, and stalked out of the breakfast room._

_Surprisingly, his mother cleared her throat. “It’s a nice feeling,” she admitted quietly, toying with her water glass and keeping her eyes modestly downcast. “Warm…” She broke off, blushing deeply, and followed Grayson._

_“Geez, Derek, why don’t you just ask them about their sex lives?” Laura sneered in all her teenage superiority. (At the time, she boasted seventeen years to Derek’s mere thirteen.) “That would be less awkward and uncomfortable.”_

_Derek, already miserable in his coat-and-tie school uniform, slumped in his elaborately carved oak chair. “Shut up, Laura.”_

_Laura rose and flounced from the room. “Better hurry up if you want a ride to school,” she called after her. “But don’t even think of walking in the building with me. I don’t want my friends to see what a loser of a little brother I’m stuck with.”_

_She closed the door. Derek slumped further, feeling that all-too-familiar adolescent emotion of wanting to die from shame._

_Margery approached from behind and put a gentle hand on his head. As usual, she’d been so quiet, anticipating and meeting the needs of each family member so unobtrusively, that they’d forgotten she was there._

_Derek gave a frustrated sigh. The adolescent part of him wanted to shake off her comforting touch — he was a _man_ now, dammit — but the pup inside him still craved it._

_“Don’t fret, little one,” Margery said, toying with his hair._

_“I just want to make sure I get it _right_ ,” Derek admitted._

_“You will.” Margery kissed the top of his head. “When the time comes, you’ll know just what to do.”_

She’d been right, Derek realized. He hadn’t followed a word of the proscribed ritual he’d so carefully memorized when he was young, yet somehow it worked. He was now a full-fledged Alpha with a pack of his own, and it was the best feeling in the world. 

But what about Stiles? Granted, no wolf had turned a human in a hundred years, under pain of death, let alone claimed one as a pack member. Still, Derek was shocked at how different the sensation had been. 

He reminded himself that Stiles was half witch. Surely, that accounted for the unsettling feelings Derek experienced when he bit him. 

Claiming Stiles had been risky, even with the knowledge that his father had approved the deal. Yet Derek felt no regret. Despite his bizarre human/witch/Omega status, Stiles clearly belonged with the Beacon Hills pack, and under Derek’s care and protection.

A disquieting thought intruded: How _had_ Stiles become part of the pack? 

Peter bit Scott first, Derek knew, followed by the others. Was Stiles, as Deaton claimed, simply part of a package deal that included Scott? Or was there more at work? 

Surely Peter was aware of Stiles’ powers, Derek thought. Knowing his uncle, he would have wanted to exploit them to the utmost to serve his own twisted cause. And Deaton said that Stiles’ magic had been instrumental in keeping the pack safe.

Derek frowned as he watched Scott managed a tricky maneuver on the field, dodging nimbly around Jackson. Given Scott’s protectiveness toward his foster brother, Derek mused, it was shocking that he would allow Stiles anywhere near Peter, let alone in his pack. 

Or had Peter taken a different approach? Had threatened Scott to gain Stiles’ cooperation? And if so, what the hell else had he done?

Beside him, Lydia stirred. “You’re thinking about Peter.”

Derek stared at her. “How could you tell?”

Lydia merely nodded toward Derek’s hands. He realized with a start that his claws were fully extended.

“Dammit!” Derek retracted them instantly. _Control_ , he reminded himself furiously. _Control, dumbass_.

Lydia rose to her feet, cheering proudly as Jackson body-checked Scott and scooped up the ball, heading toward the other end of the lawn where a makeshift goal was set up. Unfortunately, he ran smack into Boyd, who had all the give of a brick wall, and the ball bounced free again.

Lydia sat, carefully smoothing her skirt. “You can ask me about him,” she said to Derek, keeping her eyes focused on the game. “I don’t mind.”

Derek sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. He needed to know the full truth, he reminded himself, in order to heal the damage Peter had done.

“Okay,” he said carefully. “Did Peter ever—“

“Please.” Lydia looked at Derek. “Like Peter was into girls. And even if he was…” She smiled, showing her teeth. “I think he was too afraid of me to try.” 

“Besides,” she added, shrugging carelessly as she turned back to the field. “I have it on good authority that he couldn’t get it up.”

“Oh,” Derek said.

“Not for lack of trying, though.” Lydia’s pretty mouth twisted in distaste.

Derek scrubbed his face with his hands again, his mind reeling with the implications. “So the boys…”

Lydia turned to Derek, sighing impatiently. “Think about it. You’re Peter Hale. What do you want more than anything else?”

Derek stared at her blankly.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Power,” she said. “Right?”

“Right,” Derek said. “Power.”

“Peter talked about it all the time,” Lydia said, turning her eyes back to the field. “How pathetic other werewolves were and how he was going to rise up and show them the way. Return the race to their former glory. All he needed was an army.”

“Of teenagers?”

“Think about it,” Lydia said again. “If you want to build a following without drawing attention to yourself, we’re pretty easy pickings. Parents are paranoid about their kids’ safety these days. They don’t even let them play outside anymore. And if some schoolteacher or dentist goes crazy every full moon, someone’s gonna notice. But us?”

She indicated herself and the other Betas. “We all hate our families . All we want to do is get away from them so we can hang with our friends.” 

She smirked. “I used to sleep over at Jackson’s house every weekend. My parents didn’t know, and his parents didn’t care. I told my mom I was with my dad, and I told my dad I was with my mom.” 

She reached down and plucked a few blades of grass from the lawn, running them through her fingers. “So we go where we want when we want and we lie about it. If anyone warns us about danger, we ignore them. And If a boy gets aggressive…” She smiled. “Coach Finstock makes him first line.”

“So Peter bit Scott,” Derek said slowly, “and then you.”

Lydia nodded. “Then Jackson figured out what had happened and wanted in, just like Peter knew he would. Boyd and Erica were easy to convince, and Isaac basically begged for the Bite.”

“I heard Isaac’s father was abusive.”

“Oh, totally,” Lydia replied. “And it should tell you something about the guy that Isaac preferred being Peter’s Beta to spending one more day under his thumb. He made a deal with Peter,” she explained before Derek could ask. “The first thing he did after turning Isaac was to take care of his father.”

“’Take care of’ as in rip his throat out?”

Lydia shrugged carelessly. “Isacc swears he only asked Peter to make him leave town. Kind of like Scott did with his dad after he was turned. But who knows?”

The ball came bouncing their way across the grass. Lydia scooped it up, stood, and threw it to Jackson with surprising skill.

“Aww, no fair!” Scott called. “I had it!”

“But Jackson scores more often than you do,” Lydia said sweetly.

Hoots and catcalls filled the air.

“Nice one!”

“She got you, McCall!” 

“Better not tell Allison!”

Scott blushed and pulled his helmet back down, and the game resumed.

Lydia dusted off her hands and sat again. “Anyway, Peter wanted a pack, but at the same time he was afraid one of the Betas would challenge him. And trust me, they were tempted. So even if Peter had been het, he wouldn’t have tried anything. Going after me would piss off Jackson, going after Erica would piss off Boyd, and Allison? She’s a hunter.”

Lydia shook her head, her curls bright in the sunlight. “Peter may have been crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. Instead, he just threatened the boys with the Alpha’s Privilege.”

Derek winced. “How?”

“He said they better not even think about challenging him. Even if they won, they were just puppies, and then some older, more experience Alpha would take them down and make them submit. And then take his privilege with their mates.” She turned to Derek. “Is that a real thing?” 

Derek shifted. “It was,” he admitted, “back in the day. Technically, the right still exists, but nobody acts on it these days, unless they’re a complete asshole. Or they’re from Utah.”

He didn’t tell Lydia that, in the old days, the ceremonial first offerings to a new Alpha would include his pick of the Betas and/or their mates, not to mention as many Omegas as he could fuck in one night. 

Sometimes Derek was really ashamed of his heritage.

Lydia snorted, interrupting his thoughts. “Typical Peter. He kept talking about tradition, but I think he just made stuff up based on what he wanted.”

“So he kept the boys in line by telling them that another Alpha would be even worse than he was.” 

“Yeah.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Like he was doing us a big favor.”

“But he was smart enough not to antagonize them,” Derek said, “which means you, Allison, and Erica were off limits. And that meant Jackson, Scott, and Boyd would have been off limits, too, for the same reason.”

“Yeah.” Lydia grinned. “Us girls are pretty territorial about our men.”

“That leaves Isaac,” Derek said softly, “and Stiles.”

Lydia reached down and tore a few more blades of grass from the lawn. “And like I said, Isaac told me there were performance issues.”

“Christ.” Derek rubbed his eyes. He felt weary and enraged at the same time. He wanted to dig Peter up and kill him again.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Lydia said, echoing his thoughts. For the first time, her voice was shy rather than brash.

“It sounds like he was no match for you, though.” Derek gently bumped her shoulder.

“Doesn’t mean I like wandering around naked in the woods because some freak is mind-controlling me,” she muttered. She glanced at Derek out of the corner of her eye, then quickly looked away. “I’m kind of glad you’re here now,” she murmured.

“I’m glad, too,” Derek said.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the others. The sun was dipping lower, and a cool breeze sprung up, stirring the treetops. 

He jumped a little when Lydia’s cell phone rang. When she answered, her voice was chipper again.

“Hey, Allison!…Not much…Yeah, he’s here.” Her eyes slid to Derek, then away. “Um, I can’t really talk right now, can I call you later? K’bye!”

She closed the phone. “That’s Allison.”

“Scott’s girlfriend?”

“And more importantly,” Lydia preened, “my best friend.”

Derek smiled, then frowned in confusion. “Your phone works,” he said.

“Hello? It’s an _iPhone_.”

“No, I mean mine died. Halfway up the hill.” Derek pulled the phone out of his pocket and stared at it. Sure enough, the screen was still blank.

“Oh, you need to have Stiles fix it for you. Just ask him.”

Lydia rose as Jackson scored the winning goal, ran across the field, flung her arms around his neck, and gave him a huge kiss. He dipped her, Fred-and-Ginger style, and kissed her back.

The rest of the pack groaned.

“Seriously?”

“Get a room, you two!”

“TMT – Too Much Tongue!”

The screen door slammed behind Derek, and Stiles walked out on the porch, his dishtowel dangling from his back pocket. For a moment, he watched the others with his hands on his hips. Then he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

As the pack loped toward the porch, he opened the door, gave an exaggerated bow and flourish, and gestured for Derek to precede him into the house.

Derek suspected a world of sarcasm in the gesture, but merely nodded his thanks and walked indoors. He was surprised to find the table in the family room set, and mouth-watering smells emanating from the kitchen. Derek realized he was starving. 

The pack drifted in after him, still arguing about the game. Their eyes lit up at the food, and they piled eagerly into the chairs. Stiles jerked his chin for Scott to join him in the kitchen, and a minute later, they emerged carrying enormous platters of food. 

There were two whole roast chickens and a platter of pork chops, not to mention a bowl of mashed potatoes the size of wash tub. An equally large wooden bowl of salad already stood on the table, along with several baskets of bread. Scott hefted a gallon of milk on the table, and it made the rounds as the teens filled their glasses.

Derek found Stiles at his elbow, formally proffering a bottle of ‘bane beer over his arm, which was draped in a dishtowel.

Derek gave a sigh of happiness. “Thank you,” he said.

Stiles gave him a wink. Then, as the others fought over a basket of rolls, he hesitated, looking uncertain.

“Yes?” Derek asked.

Stiles bit his lip, then pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. He tapped quickly at the tiny keyboard, with the speed and dexterity every teenager seemed to possess, then held the message up for Derek to see.

 _It’s not a pile of steaming fresh kill_ , it read, _but I hope it’s cool_.

Derek looked at him sharply. Stiles knew about the ceremonial offering, then. Deaton had mentioned Stiles had done a lot of research into werewolf lore. Derek just hoped the he hadn’t uncovered anything about the _other_ traditional offerings.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I mean, it looks great.”

He smiled.

Stiles’ brown eyes lit up, and he smiled back.

It was the first smile Derek had seen on his face, and he was momentarily stunned by how it transformed the boy, chasing the shadows from his eyes. 

Fortunately, Stiles didn’t seem to notice Derek’s reaction. He just plopped down in a seat next to Scott, smacking his brother’s hand when he reached for the pork chops.

“Dude, what the hell? I’m starving.”

Stiles pointed to Derek.

“Oh.” Guiltily, Scott dropped the pork chop. Then he smacked Boyd’s hand as the other Beta ripped a leg off the nearest chicken. Boyd nudged Erica as she stuffed an entire roll in her mouth. Gradually, stillness spread around the table as the Betas paused and turned their eyes to Derek. 

Derek looked helplessly at Stiles, who jerked his chin at him, indicating he should stand. Derek did, wincing at the loud scrape of his chair legs on the floor as he did so.

Stiles lifted his glass of milk and turned toward Derek, nodding at the pack to do the same, which they did.

“Oh.” Derek grabbed his beer bottle and hefted it, hoping none of the Betas would notice his hand was shaking a little. He hated public speaking. 

“Uh…” he said, wracking his brain for the right words.

For some reason, the memory of Margery came back to his mind.

_Don’t fret, little one. When the time comes, you’ll know just what to do._

Derek straightened and lifted his beer bottle higher. 

“To the Beacon Hills pack,” he said. “Long may we run!”

The Betas howled their approval, beating on the table with their fists. Derek threw back his head and joined them. Together, their cries rose as one, drifting beyond the house and into the gathering darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

The pack ate like, well, famished wolves, except for Lydia who nibbled delicately on a salad. 

Derek couldn’t help imagining the stir his Betas would create at one of his mother’s stuffy dinner parties, and the thought made him smile. In the Hale household, even intimate family dinners were conducted with full decorum and proper conversation, including current events, corporate strategy, and a sprinkling of gossip. (And even then, Kara insisted that any discussion of work matters between Grayson, Laura, and Derek be held within a strict fifteen-minute limit.)

With a guilty start, Derek realized he hadn’t yet called his family to let them know he had arrived safely. He pulled out his cell phone.

“Stiles,” he said.

Startled, Stiles looked up from his plate, his cheeks bulging with mashed potatoes.

Derek held up his phone. “I was told you could fix this for me.”

Stiles nodded, bobbing his head, then held out his hand imperiously.

Derek handed the phone to Isaac, sitting next to him, who handed it to Stiles.

Stiles looked at the phone for a minute, chewing thoughtfully. Then he tapped the blank screen with his forefinger. A spark jumped from his finger to the phone, and it powered up with a chirp. At the same time, the lights flickered overhead and a shower of sparks drifted down.

“Dude, watch it!” Jackson grumbled.

Stiles handed the phone to Isaac, who handed it to Derek, and the pack resumed devouring their dinner.

Derek sat very quietly, aware that every hair on his body was standing on end, while the phone seemed to buzz in his hand like an angry insect. 

He automatically did one of the grounding exercises his therapist had taught him.

_“Imagine there are roots coming out of your feet and reaching deep into the earth,” she intoned, as soothing harp music played in the background — almost, but not quite, covering up the sounds of midafternoon traffic outside the building._

_“All that anger energy drains out your roots,” she continued, “leaving you calm and refreshed.”_

_**Calm and refreshed** , Derek told himself, trying to ignore the sickly-sweet smell of a vanilla candle that filled the air._

_“Now pull soothing earth energy up up up through your roots and into your body, filling every part of you.”_

_**Soothing** , Derek repeated. **Soothing, dammit!**_

_The harp music stopped suddenly, and the therapist sighed in frustration. “Derek, this only works if you remember to breathe.”_

Derek belatedly exhaled, then looked quickly around the table to see if he was being observed. Fortunately, the others were still utterly focused on their dinner.

Derek took another deep breath, glanced at his phone, saw there were 38 emails from the office, and swore.

The pack was instantly on alert, bodies frozen over their plates, eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” Derek reassured them. “It’s just a bunch of work emails.”

Scott tilted his head. “You have a job?” he asked with his mouth full.

Derek frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Scott shrugged. “I didn’t think Alphas worked. Peter just sat around being crazy all day.”

“Well, it’s close — I’m an attorney.”

The Betas stared blankly at Derek.

“That was a joke.”

They stared at him some more.

Then Boyd kicked Scott under the table.

“Ow! Dude! I was just asking.”

“No!” Erica hissed at him. “The other thing.”

“Huh?” Scott looked around the table, where the others were communicating with him through a series of raised eyebrows and exaggerated facial grimaces. “What other thing?”

Stiles elbowed Scott, hard.

“Ow! Dude! What?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, then walked two fingers across the table.

“Ohhhh, that other thing!”

Scott turned to Derek. “So, um, we were thinking maybe tomorrow we would show you the territory, like all the trails and stuff where we patrol. It’s Sunday, so we won’t have school.”

 _School_ , Derek thought numbly. _They have **school**_.

“I’d like that,” he said.

Stiles nudged Scott again.

“Oh, and, um, we kind of made a training area. Peter didn’t teach us much—“

Stiles snorted softly.

“But we’ve been trying to work on stuff by ourselves. We were hoping you would maybe teach us more?” Scott finished hopefully.

“Of course,” Derek said firmly. “That’s my job.”

Scott glanced at Stiles, who nodded encouragement.

“And, um, when the full moon comes? We were hoping…” Scott paused to scratch his head. “Peter just locked us up, but sometimes people got hurt…” He blushed, and his eyes went to Stiles.

“Of course,” Derek said again, while mentally flaying his uncle alive. “I can teach you some exercises that will help you control the shift. They’re easy, and if you practice them on a regular basis, you’ll be ready when the moon comes.”

“Cool.” Scott gave a smile that made his baby face even more apparent. Stiles patted Scott’s shoulder and gave him a look that said _See?_. Boyd nudged Erica, Isaac smiled down at his plate, and Lydia raised her eyebrows at Jackson, who managed to look, if not happy, at least a little less constipated. 

When the table was pretty much picked clean, the pack cleared the plates and serving dishes without having to be prompted by Stiles. He, in turn, brought out a pan of brownies from the kitchen, along with another gallon of milk, and set both on the table. He cut a small brownie, set it on a plate and passed it to Lydia with a wink, then looked at Derek.

“I couldn’t possibly,” Derek groaned. “I’m stuffed.”

Stiles looked pleased, then slipped back into the kitchen as the others traipsed out. They fell on the brownies with the same ferocity as before, ripping them out of the pan with their hands, although they stopped short of guzzling the milk straight out the jug. 

Derek looked on, in awe of teenage werewolf appetites, and made a mental note to hit the grocery store soon. 

“Shit,” he said out loud. As before, everyone looked at him in concern.

“My car broke down,” Derek explained quickly. “I’ll have to call—“

“STILES!” everyone bellowed.

Stiles poked his head out of the kitchen and made a _The fuck?_ gesture.

Scott pointed to Derek. “Car,” he said through a mouthful of brownie.

Stiles nodded and grabbed a red hoodie from the coat rack.

“It’s okay,” Derek said quickly. “It can wait ‘til morning.”

Scott made his quizzical head-tilt gesture. “You sure?” 

“Yeah,” Derek said slowly. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “After all, I’m not going anywhere.”

The pack members looked ridiculously pleased at that statement, smiling at him shyly. Derek felt a surge of warmth and trust around the table.

 _Please_ , he thought desperately, _please please please let me be worthy of this_

***

After dinner, the pack played rock-paper-scissors to decide who had to do the dishes. Jackson and Boyd lost and got to work with a minimum of grumbling from Jackson, mainly because Boyd promised to “punch you in the throat if I have to listen to any of your candy-ass whining.” They blasted hip-hop from Jackson’s iPhone as they cleaned, while Scott and Isaac added to the din by playing Call of Duty on the X-box.

Stiles, Erica, and Lydia, seemingly unaffected by the noise level, crashed on the couch. Stiles read a book and Lydia texted on her phone, presumably with Allison. Erica curled up between them and put her head in Stiles’ lap. He protested at first, but she gave him her best puppy-dog eyes and he relented, one hand absently caressing her hair while he read.

Derek slipped outside, walked down the porch steps, and out into the clearing, enjoying the cool night air. He glanced upward and gasped. The night sky was radiant with stars, millions more than he was able to see in LA.

He stood looking up at them in awe. Meanwhile, his feet seemed to sink into the earth, filling him with a sense of peace.

 _So this is what grounding feels like_ , he thought, bemused.

Then his senses prickled, alerting him to a presence.

“It’s okay,” he said without turning around. “You can come out.”

He heard the screen door whine and bang, then footsteps across the porch. He turned as Scott approached, his movements tentative.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. 

“You’re not interrupting,” Derek told him. 

“Um, I was wondering if I could maybe talk to you for a minute.”

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Derek waited patiently while Scott blew out a breath. “Okay. I just wanted to say, like, for the record? That we, um, we did try to save Peter that night.”

Derek blinked in surprise. “At the warehouse?”

“Yeah. I mean, he was shit, but he was still a member of the pack, you know? But the building was kinda on fire at that point, and Gerard had pretty much carved him in half with his big freaky sword.”

Scott made a face. “I tried to save Gerard, too. For Allison. But when I went to help him, he just laughed and ran off into the flames.”

“Like a supervillain,” Derek offered.

Scott’s eyes widened. “Right? The guy wouldn’t stop monologuing. It was kind of embarrassing, really.” Scott shook his head, then shrugged. “And then Stiles started freaking out because of the fire, and we all just figured we’d better get the hell out.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground.

“Scott.”

He looked up again, his expression anxious.

Derek touched his shoulder briefly. “You did well.”

“I did?” 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “You did. The pack got out alive and you’re all still together.” 

Scott let out a long breath. “Cool.” If he had been in wolf form, he would have been wagging his tail.

Then he frowned anxiously again.

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about?” Derek prompted.

“Yeah.” Scott scratched his head. “Um, you get that Stiles doesn’t talk, right?”

“I had noticed,” Derek said gently. “Has he always been that way?”

“Stiles?” Scott laughed. “No way, man. Stiles talked _all the time_. He was always getting in trouble at school because of it. Our kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Franklin? She put tape over his mouth once to get him to shut up.”

“Did it work?”

Scott snorted with laughter. “Nah. Stiles took a marker and drew these huge red lady lips on the tape. It was hilarious.”

“So what happened?” Derek asked.

Scott frowned. “In kindergarten?”

“No,” Derek said patiently. “Why did Stiles stop talking?”

“Oh. Because of the fire. When his parents died.” Scott peered up at Derek. “You know about that, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Most people leave him alone about it nowadays.” Scott scowled. “But Peter kept trying to make Stiles talk. He said he could never achieve real magic if he couldn’t speak spells. Peter was a dick,” he added. “I know the guy was your uncle—“

“No argument here,” Derek said. “He was a complete dick.”

Scott folded his arms and glowered at Derek. “You’re not gonna try and make Stiles talk, are you? ‘Cause if you are, you and me are gonna have a problem.”

“Never,” Derek said. “I swear.”

Scott looked dubious. “I don’t mean to get in your face about it. But Stiles is like my brother, and it really pisses me off when people try to mess with him. Most of the time you can figure out what he means, even if he doesn’t talk, and if you’re not sure, you can always ask me, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said. “It’s a deal.” He offered his hand. 

Scott hesitated, then held out his hand, and they shook. Scott’s face cleared and his shoulders relaxed a little more. He looked younger suddenly, and Derek had to remind himself the boy was barely seventeen. He couldn’t imagine carrying such burdens when he was that age. Hell, he was 24 and still wasn’t sure he was up to it.

The lights on the porch flickered suddenly, and Scott winced. “Shit,” he said. “Looks like Stiles is playing X-Box. I’d better go break it up.” He looked at Derek.

“Go on,” Derek told him. “I’ll be in soon.”

Scott nodded, then ran to the house and jumped, clearing the steps in one leap and landing on the porch. The screen door slammed behind him.

Derek followed more slowly. The lights had stopped flickering, so he assumed order had been restored. Rather than returning to the living room, he went upstairs and prowled around until he found the master suite. 

It was empty except for a huge armchair covered in threadbare fabric and a large, low bed in an antique frame, the carving on the headboard showing a scene of a pack of wolves howling in a circle under the full moon. Next to it was a small bedside table with a reading lamp.

The sheets and blankets were new and smelled fresh; still, the room stank of Peter. Derek knew it would take time to erase his uncle’s stench from the room, just as it would take time to remove his stain from the pack. 

Derek fully intended to return downstairs, but he figured it would be okay to rest for a few minutes. It’s not like he couldn’t hear every drumbeat, explosion, and electronic chirp of the horrible din on the first floor. He stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the armchair to help distribute his scent in the room, then toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks. 

He collapsed on the bed and groaned in pleasure. The mattress was clearly new as well, and the biggest size on the market. He pulled out his phone, and sent a quick text to his family, letting them know that he had arrived and that the claiming ritual had been successful. For some reason, he felt reluctant to share the details. 

He waited a few minutes in case there was a reply, although he wasn’t anticipating one. He knew his parents had tickets to the opera that night, and Laura was no doubt working, even though it was a Saturday. He tried to convince himself to call Kate, but told himself she would be out on the town, seeing and being seen.

He started scrolling through his work emails, mentally cataloguing each into reply, forward, and ignore. Tomorrow, he’d find a room to use as an office and set up his laptop. He’d get his luggage from the car and decide what else among his personal possessions, if anything, he needed to have sent from LA.

More importantly, he’d start training his pack so they could defend themselves, and he’d teach them how to control their shift so they weren’t at the mercy of the full moon and their own emotions. His wolves would grow up strong and brave and beautiful and—

Still making plans, he fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Derek woke to bright sunshine in his eyes and winced, quickly closing them again. He must have slept through his alarm somehow. It was clearly too late to hit the gym. He’d have to head straight to work and hope he didn’t have an early meeting. 

Still, he lingered for a moment, pressing his face into the cool, soft pillow. He’d slept well, which was unusual. It was tempting to spend just a few more moments in comfort before facing his morning commute and locking himself in the stifling glass toaster that was Hale corporate headquarters.

He groaned at the thought and burrowed deeper into the pillow.

Then he heard snoring. 

Derek opened one eye in puzzlement.

“Kate?” 

The snoring got louder and more…masculine.

Derek sat bolt upright as memory returned. He wasn’t at his parents’ house, or in his condo in the city. He was in Beacon Hills. Sunlight was pouring through the windows. He was alone, but…

He sat up further and peered cautiously over the edge of the bed.

All his Betas were sleeping on the floor, ranged in a circle around his bed, tucked into piles of pillows, blankets, and sleeping bags.

The snoring was coming from Boyd.

“Holy shit,” Derek murmured. The pack members looked even younger in sleep — their growing limbs sprawling and their features softened by the morning light.

The responsibility of what Derek was undertaking truly hit home, and he felt a surge of panic. He repressed it instantly, not wanting to disturb the pack. As quietly as he could, he edged toward the side of the bed and swung his legs over.

Boyd’s eyes flew open in alarm.

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Boyd blinked sleepily at him, then closed his eyes again, tucking himself closer around Erica. She murmured his name and twined their fingers together. Meanwhile, Isaac was twitching in his sleep like he was chasing bunnies in his dreams.

On the other side of the bed, Scott flopped over on his back, one arm sliding bonelessly off his chest. His hand nudged Lydia’s head, and she frowned.

“Don’t put the rabbit under the apple tree,” she ordered, but didn’t wake. 

Jackson slept on, drooling.

Derek waited a few moments, then carefully stepped over the sleeping teens and slipped down the hall to the restroom, rather than wake them by using the one was attached to his bedroom. Then he padded downstairs and followed the glorious scent of coffee to the kitchen, where he found a full pot brewed.

He grabbed a mug from a rack on the wall, poured a cup, and inhaled it, groaning in pleasure. As he poured a second cup, he heard a small noise from the back porch and froze. Cursing himself for his lack of awareness, he edged closer to the back door, then flung it open, ready to strike at the intruder. 

Startled, Stiles spit coffee all over the back steps.

“Sorry!” Derek said. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?” 

Stiles shook his head and glared up at Derek with watery eyes.

Then his eyes widened.

Derek realized to his chagrin that he was shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but jeans.

Stiles inhaled sharply and choked. His eyes widened further in panic.

Derek quickly sat next to Stiles on the back step and gave him a hearty _thwack_ between the shoulder blades. Stiles spewed more coffee, but managed to take in a gulp of air, then another.

“Better?” Derek asked.

Stiles gave Derek a weak thumbs-up, his face burning in embarrassment. He set his coffee cup down on the step and wiped at the coffee on his face and hands with the tail of his too-big plaid shirt.

“Did it burn you?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head, still not meeting Derek’s eyes.

“Are you sure…here, hang on. You missed a spot.” Derek grabbed the fabric of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles stiffened, then relaxed slightly as Derek carefully dabbed the rest of coffee from his skin.

As he did, he caught a glimpse of the livid bite mark on Stiles’ neck. 

“Shit,” Derek swore. 

Stiles tried to jerk away, but Derek held fast to the collar of his shirt.

“Hold still,” he ordered. 

Stiles froze in obedience, but trembled.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Derek said more gently. “I just want to take a look, okay?’

Stiles hesitated, then nodded. As before, he tilted his head away from Derek, exposing his neck.

Derek peered closer at the bite, which was red and swollen. “Does it hurt?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Liar,” Derek said. “Why didn’t you just let me bite your wrist?”

Stiles scowled, whipped out his cell phone, typed furiously, and held it up for Derek to read.

_dude am not a GIRL_

“Okay, tough guy,” Derek sighed. “Will you at least let me heal it?”

Stiles huffed, then nodded. Derek carefully placed his fingertips over the bite, which was warm to the touch. After a few seconds, he felt tingling, then a dull ache. The black veins sprouted on his hand as he drew the pain out.

As he did, he felt a humming in his head and a stillness inside his chest. He was still aware of his surroundings — the cool morning air, the sounds of birds singing, the sharp scent of herbs from the garden — but he and Stiles seemed to be in a bubble, a tiny world that contained only the two of them.

Then Stiles turned his head and looked at Derek, his lips slightly parted. His skin was still a blotchy red from blushing, his breathing still a little unsteady. His dark hair stood on end from a bad case of bed-head, and his breath smelled of Cheerios and coffee. 

Stile’s eyes were such an unusual, almost indescribable shade of brown, Derek found himself thinking. Still he found himself searching for the right metaphor. Whiskey? Amber? Honey?

As he watched, Stiles’ pupils opened further, making the color even more indecipherable. Derek leaned forward to get a closer look. 

Stiles, seemingly just as mesmerized by Derek’s eyes, leaned closer to him as well.

For a second, even the birds were silent. The only sound was their breathing — which seemed suddenly to be in sync — and the bees humming in the heather on the borders of the garden.

Then Derek heard the thunder of feet on the main staircase in the house, and voices getting closer to the kitchen, and —

Stiles flinched backward. At the same time, Derek jerked his hand away. 

He cleared his throat. “Better?” he asked.

Stiles dropped his eyes from Derek’s and nodded quickly. Then he rose and went back in the house.

“Dude!” he heard Scott bellow. “Waffle time!”

***

Derek waited until the kitchen was in full chaos, then slipped back inside. Stiles had put the others to work — beating batter, setting the table, cooking sausages — while he sipped coffee in the corner. 

Derek couldn’t help but glance at him. Stiles met his eyes over the rim of his cup, his expression unreadable. Then he slowly turned his head to the side, pretending to look out the window. The bite on his neck had healed somewhat, no longer looking red and swollen.

Stiles jerked his chin at Derek in acknowledgement, then turned away and grabbed a two-pronged fork from Scott, who was hovering over the waffle iron.

“Come on, dude,” Scott objected. “I swear I won’t burn them this time.”

Derek escaped upstairs and took a long (cold) shower. Then he got dressed and fired a few emails to the office. When he came downstairs, Stiles was waiting for him, wearing his red hoodie and jingling a set of keys in his hand. 

“Car?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded and Derek followed him outside. There was a large shed off to one side of the house, with Stiles’ jeep parked outside. They climbed in, and Stiles nodded sternly to Derek’s seatbelt, waiting until he buckled it before shifting gears and driving off.

Stiles drove restlessly, beating his hands on the steering wheel in time to the radio, which he cranked — although he did turn it down somewhat when Derek gave him a pained look and pointed to his ears.

Within minutes, they had arrived at the place where Derek’s car was parked. He supposed he should have been more nervous about leaving it and its contents in plain sight, but he hadn’t been worried. It would have been nigh-impossible for any thief to steal a car under the noses of half a dozen werewolves lurking less than a mile away. 

Stiles hopped out of the jeep and approached the Camaro, nodding at it in appreciation. To Derek’s surprise, Stiles took a running leap onto a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree, then quickly climbed higher until he reached a fork in the trunk. 

He pulled what looked like a small leather pouch out of a depression in the bark and untied it. Derek caught the pungent scent of herbs, along with a bitter burnt smell. Stiles pulled a knife out of his pocket, and flipped it open.

Derek couldn’t quite see what Stiles was doing, but he seemed to be carving something. After a few minutes, he replaced the contents in the pouch and stuffed the pouch back into the tree. Then he scrambled down the tree. 

Halfway to the ground, he slipped.

Derek darted forward, but Stiles waved him off irritably. He regained his balance and hung for a moment from the lowest branch. His shirt pulled up, revealing his pale, lean stomach and what looked to be Batman boxers beneath his jeans. 

Derek swallowed.

Stiles dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch, then rose, dusting off his hands. He approached the Camaro and nodded at Derek.

“Start her up?”

Stiles nodded, and as Derek climbed inside the car, he rested his palm on the hood and closed his eyes. Derek turned the key, and the Camaro roared to life.

Stiles opened his eyes and gave a satisfied nod, rapping his knuckles on the hood of the car. He then saluted Derek through the windshield, got back in the Jeep, and drove away with a squeal of tires and a spray of gravel.

Derek sat in the Camaro for a full five minutes as his body went through the usual reaction it seemed to have whenever he witnessed Stiles’ magic — from completely panicked to totally freaked out to mildly freaked to still freaked but somewhat functional.

Then he looked at his reflection in the Camaro’s rear-view mirror.

“Hale,” he told himself, “you are so completely fucked.”

He put the car in gear and drove home.

***

When he pulled up at the house, the Betas gathered around, whistling in admiration at the Camaro. Even Jackson looked impressed.

“That car is boss, Boss,” Boyd declared. 

Grinning, Derek opened the trunk and pulled out his duffel — despite his mother’s protests, he hadn’t packed much in the way of a wardrobe — then stopped, looking around him.

“Where did the rest of you park?” he asked. Besides Stiles’ trusty jeep, his was the only car there.

“We usually carpool, then park in the reserve and hike,” Scott explained as they walked toward the house. “We try not to have too many cars up here at the same time.”

“It’s a small town,” Boyd added, “so everyone knows what everyone else drives. It’s easier to just avoid any questions.”

“That’s smart,” Derek said.

“Of course, to even get up here, they’d have to get through my buddy Stiles’ wards, and that ain’t gonna happen.” Boyd ruffled Stiles’ hair affectionately. “But we figured better safe than sorry.”

Stiles gave Boyd an indignant look that clearly said _Dude! Watch the hair!_. Then he stopped, put his hands on his hips, and surveyed the yard, which was littered with lacrosse gear.

“Okay, okay,” Scott groaned. “We’re on it.”

The Betas scattered to pick up their gear. Stiles gave a satisfied nod and went inside, twirling his car keys on his finger.

Another question occurred to Derek as the others came back and piled their equipment on the porch next to his duffel. “Why do you even wear helmets?” he asked. “It’s not like any of you can get a concussion.”

Scott pulled a face. “Stiles makes us.”

“He makes us wear seatbelts, too,” Erica added, rolling her eyes.

“And he made us take the no-texting-while-driving pledge at school,” Isaac put in. “We got the T-shirts and everything.”

Derek realized it was only the second time Isaac had spoken to him directly. He was pleased, but didn’t want to overreact. 

“That makes sense,” he said. “Just because you can survive a car wreck doesn’t mean you want to be in one. That sort of thing makes people ask questions. Lydia tells me you’re on the lacrosse team at school,” he added casually.

Isaac blushed. “I’m not first line or anything.”

“Please,” Scott said. “Like there’s even room on first line for anything besides Jackson’s ego.”

To Derek’s surprise, Jackson, rather than taking insult, just grinned and kept practicing swings with his stick.

Scott flung his arm around Isaac. “You’ll make it this year, dude,” he said warmly. “And so will Stiles,” he added as his friend reappeared, lugging several heavy backpacks across the porch. “Damn straight — right, bro?”

Stiles nodded decisively, then looked back at the house, then at Jackson.

“Yo, Lyds!” Jackson bellowed. “We’re waiting on you!”

A window opened on the second floor, and Lydia leaned out, frowning. “I don’t understand why I have to come along,” she pouted. “I don’t train or patrol. And this sun will give me freckles.”

“Wear a hat, babe,” Jackson advised. “And shake a leg. It’s a pack thing.”

Lydia huffed in annoyance, but appeared on the porch a minute later. She was still pouting, but looked particularly fetching in red sneakers, denim clam diggers, a blue-and-white checked gingham shirt tied underneath her breasts, and a baseball cap over her curls. Stiles pretended to faint at the sight of her.

“Idiot,” she said, but when Stiles backed up to the porch and offered her a piggy back ride, she climbed on, then giggled as he ran off with her into the forest. The rest followed, Boyd and Jackson lugging the backpacks containing water and snacks. 

The pack led Derek through the Hale property and the surrounding preserve. Derek kept track of their location on a map Stiles provided, but he found he didn’t really need it. Every inch of the territory felt familiar, even though Derek knew he had never ventured this far on his one childhood visit.

Besides being aware of his location, he found he also possessed an awareness of his pack — a general sense of each member’s location, distance from him, proximity to each other, and heartbeat.

Which was how he knew instantly when trouble came.


	9. Chapter 9

As they hiked, Stiles stopped at certain trees along the way, where he had hidden hex bags in the trunk or branches or buried them at the roots. He checked each pouch, adding fresh herbs to some and scribbling notes in a journal he kept in his pocket. Derek noted the locations on the map and realized Stiles had ringed the entire preserve with wards.

“It’s not enough to keep anything really bad out,” Scott explained when he noticed Derek checking the map. “But it’s enough to give us a heads-up if anyone is approaching the house. Which means we have a fighting chance,” he added grimly. Derek remembered the pack had already fought off a number of adversaries, including rogue Alphas.

“Did Deaton teach him how to do that?” he asked.

Scott nodded. “Stiles trains with him once a week. But he figures out stuff on his own, too. He reads a _lot_.” He looked at his friend with mutual admiration and bewilderment.

Then he raised his head, sniffing the air. 

His face lit up.

“Allison!” he said happily, then ran ahead of the others. 

They had reached the training ground, a clearing in the woods where the pack had set up a makeshift obstacle course out of fallen tree trunks. It was fairly elaborate, with a climbing wall made out of old boards nailed together, and rope ladders stretching between the trees. A hand-painted sign proudly declared the place to be “The Moondocks.”

Derek stopped, staring around him. “Wow,” he said. 

The Betas beamed. 

“Pretty cool, huh?” Erica said. “We occasionally get hikers up here. We always hear them coming,” she added. “We just tell them we’re learning parkour.”

“Don’t knock it,” Boyd told Jackson when he sniffed derisively. “Parkour is wicked cool.” He dropped his backpack on the ground, then took off running, shifting as he went. 

He leapt on a fallen log and used his momentum to keep going, scaling the climbing wall in two easy moves. He paused at the top to grin back at the others, baring his fangs in triumph.

“Oh, _hell_ , no,” Jackson declared, then dumped his backpack and followed. He re-traced Boyd’s route, but added a summersault in the air, landing in a tree opposite the climbing wall. 

“Show-offs!” Erica yelled. She and Isaac tore off, shoving and tripping each other in their race to the wall. Stiles grabbed the hat off Lydia’s head and took off with her in pursuit, dodging among the trees.

Derek took a fierce joy in watching his pack at play. He was already envisioning a training regimen in his head, figuring out how to use the course for fighting. When he was done, his wolves would be the strongest, most ferocious, and most feared pack in all of northern California.

He paused, shaking his head at his thoughts. Wolf packs didn’t fight much these days, except in court. It was one of the results of the treaty that had been brokered between wolves, hunters, and witches a century earlier. 

Before the Truce, the three groups had slaughtered each other pell-mell, with innocent humans often caught in the crossfire. These days, wolves channeled their aggressive nature into corporate raiding, witches enjoyed a thriving trade in alternative medicine, and most hunting families had long since forgotten their true origins.

The pack froze suddenly, interrupting Derek’s thoughts. Then they turned as one, looking beyond him.

Derek whirled and saw Scott approaching, hand-in-hand with a dark-haired girl. They stopped at the other edge of the clearing. 

Derek knew who the girl was: Allison Argent. And the thought of a hunter on his land made his blood boil.

He walked forward, aware of the pack watching him closely. 

Allison stepped into the clearing. Scott tried to follow, but she placed a gentle hand on his chest. 

“It’s okay,” she told him. “He won’t hurt me.” She looked at Derek, aware that he was listening in on their conversation. 

Derek gave a brief nod, and Allison walked toward him. Scott stayed where he was, but his expression betrayed his uncertainty.

As Allison grew closer, Derek saw she carried several bows and a quiver of arrows and had knives strapped to her legs. Her face was youthful, with an open, honest expression, but her eyes held an awareness that belied her years, and she carried herself with a certain stillness that Derek recognized.

 _Warrior_ , he thought.

His hackles rose, and low growl rumbled in his chest.

Sensing the danger, Allison stopped a few feet away. Derek did the same, folding his arms.

“Alpha Hale,” she said formally.

“Hunter Argent,” he replied. 

She smiled. “Please,” she said, “Call me Allison,”

“As you wish.” Derek didn’t make the same offer. Allison realized it, and colored slightly.

Derek pressed his advantage. “You’re on my land,” he observed. “Without my permission, in clear violation of the Truce.”

Scott whined anxiously, but Allison merely raised her eyebrows. “If we’re going to discuss violations of the Truce,” she said coolly, “perhaps we should begin with how your uncle attacked Scott and turned him into a werewolf against his will.” 

“Perhaps,” Derek said. “Or perhaps should we discuss how your grandfather kidnapped and tortured three members of my pack. Or how your mother tried to murder your own mate.”

Allison’s chin wobbled, but she raised it anyway. “My grandfather is dead,” she said bluntly. “My mother is dead. And my father and I helped save your pack when they were attacked by the Alphas.” She took a step closer. “So maybe you should just drop the attitude and hear what I have to say.” 

They glared at each other for a moment, arms folded. The pack watched, holding their breath. Derek listened to their heartbeats, sensing anxiety on their part, but no fear of the hunter.

He felt his hackles lower and took a step back. “State your business, then.”

Allison blinked and let out a breath. “I bring a message from my father. He’s requesting a formal parley with you, to be held on neutral ground.”

“Your father?” Derek asked. “I was given to understand that you now held the position of leadership, as is the custom among your people.”

Allison blushed again. “That’s what he says, but mostly he still treats me like a little kid.”

Derek smiled. “My parents are the same way.”

“Right?” Allison flung up her hands in frustration. “One minute he’s telling me how proud he is of me, and the next he’s giving me a curfew.” 

Derek held up his phone. “I’ve been here less than 24 hours and already I’ve gotten two texts from my mother reminding me to eat a healthy breakfast.”

Allison giggled, and they exchanged grins. Behind him, Derek could feel the pack relaxing as well, while Scott sighed in relief.

“Tell your father I agree to his terms,” Derek said. “As long as you attend the parley, too, as befits your rank. I’ll bring a second, as well.”

“Okay.” Allison hesitated.

“Was there something else?”

Allison gestured toward the pack. “I usually train with these guys.”

“Really?” Derek raised his eyebrows and stepped back. “Then show me what you’ve got.”

***

Derek was impressed. Allison was quick and lethal with her weapons, and he shuddered to think of her turning them against his pack. He reminded himself that Allison and Scott were formally mated now, and even a human could feel the pull of their own: Allison wouldn’t raise a hand against them.

Her father was a different matter. But Derek would make it clear to him that an attack against one member of the Hale clan would be considered an attack against all. Beacon Hills might be a long way from Los Angeles, but one phone call from Derek would summon his father’s fiercest warriors…er, lawyers. And they would sue the Argents right into the ground.

He watched as Allison coached Lydia on the bow and arrow, while the Betas took a break and fell on the snacks with their usual ferocity. Lydia was a good shot, as well, and Derek was pleased the girl had a means to defend herself — besides her sharp wits, of course.

He turned to Stiles, who was perched on a tree stump watching the girls. “Do you want Allison to teach you?”

Scott, sitting nearby, choked on his sandwich. “We tried it,” he croaked. “Bad idea.”

“Really bad idea,” Boyd mumbled around a bite of apple.

Derek frowned. “What happened?”

Stiles waved the others to silence before they could explain, then pulled out his journal and pen. He drew several quick sketches and held them up for Derek to see.

The first showed a figure — presumably Stiles, judging by his sticking-up-everywhere hair — shooting a bow, with arrows flying off wildly in all directions.

The second showed Scott in wolf form, a woeful expression on his face and a dozen arrows sticking out of him like quills on a porcupine.

Derek laughed. Stiles scribbled something else and showed it to Derek.

 _The best offense_ , it read, _is a good RUNNING AWAY!_

Derek nodded. “Seems like a sound strategy.”

Stiles grinned at him, then stowed his journal in one of the backpacks and loped off to the trees, where he started doing wind sprints.

Derek turned to Scott. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve watched enough. You ready to play?”

Scott’s eyes lit up, and he scrambled to his feet. “Hell, yeah.”

Derek jogged backward a few feet and crouched down. “Then come at me, pup.”

Scott smiled and lunged at him. Derek quickly ducked, grabbed the Beta, and slammed him into the ground, shifting as he did so. Scott landed on his back with an “Oof!” and Derek held him in place with his claws. Then he looked up at the others and grinned. “Next?”

Howling in glee, they attacked.

***

Derek hadn’t had so much fun in…well, he couldn’t remember when. It felt so good to be outdoors, wrestling with his packmates under a wide blue sky. He felt free and wild, he realized, rather than tied down and caged. 

He was pleased with his pack, as well. Peter, afraid one of the Betas would challenge him, taught them the bare minimum of fighting technique. But they were young and eager and surprisingly focused. 

Or not so surprisingly, Derek mused as he watched Isaac elude Jackson’s attack. They’d already faced down several threats, fighting for their lives and their pack in a way most wolves these days didn’t need to. This wasn’t about showing off for a rival pack at the gym — this was life and death.

Derek had sparred individually with each Beta, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. In each case, they were one and the same. Boyd’s size gave him power, but not quickness, which left him vulnerable to a sneak attack. Erica’s ferocity made her deadly, but she could be baited emotionally into losing her cool, attacking out of sheer fury with no sense of strategy.

Jackson was the same way, driven by a fierce competitive spirit, but vulnerable to being emotionally manipulated into a careless move. Isaac, on the other hand, was wily and clever, using his speed to elude his opponent, then attack their weak side. But he had a tendency to doubt himself, to second-guess his decisions, that left him exposed.

Scott was quick and powerful, his greatest strength his stubborn will and urge to protect his packmates. But that same stubborn protectiveness made him vulnerable: An enemy had only to threaten someone he cared about to throw him off his game.

“Fighting is ninety percent mental,” Derek told him, as the pack took a break from their exercises, breathing heavily. “If your opponent can get inside your head, he can beat you before the battle even begins. Boyd, can you give me a hand?”

Boyd stepped forward, and he and Derek squared off.

“Say I’m patrolling at night, and Boyd attacks me,” Derek explained. “I’ve got a split second to assess where he’s coming from, physically, emotionally, and mentally. Is he attacking me out of fear or aggression? Is he lost, maybe injured and panicking, or is he deliberately trying to take me out in order to claim my territory?”

“Maybe he’s just hungry,” Erica called out.

“Or horny,” Jackson added.

Derek laughed. “Also a possibility. When he attacks, I need to assess that as well. Are his movements sloppy and desperate, or disciplined? Is he part of a larger pack, and if so, do they have a strategy? Allison, how would you go about it?”

Allison swallowed, but replied gamely. “I’d try to isolate you, then drive you toward an area where more hunters are waiting.”

“Exactly.” Derek pointed at her. “Which is why none of us will ever patrol alone. We defend each other, and if worse comes to worst, one of us will escape and warn the pack.”

“But how are we supposed to figure all this stuff out?” Scott asked. “If Boyd attacks me, there’s, like, only seconds.”

“Use your senses,” Derek told him. “Practice your awareness. You may only have a second, but your senses will still give you all the information you need: His scent, his sound, his heartbeat. Your body already knows how to do this instinctively, you just need to hone your skills. Here, I’ll show you,” he added when Scott continued to stare at him blankly.

He backed away from Boyd a few feet. “Attack me at any time,” he told him. “Try to take me off guard.”

Boyd crouched, his eyes gleaming. 

Derek tapped into his awareness, everything from the temperature of the earth and the movement of the air to the breathing patterns and heartrates of his pack members. As if everything had suddenly gone into slow-motion, he could sense when Boyd’s weight shifted in preparation for his attack. He could tell when his scent sharpened and his heartbeat accelerated, along with those of the other pack members.

Then one of the heartbeats stuttered. 

A second later, Boyd crashed into Derek like a truck, slamming him into the earth. 

The heartbeat faltered.

Boyd reared back, looking as shocked as Derek was by his victory. Then he frowned as he, too, sensed the change.

“Off,” Derek told him. “OFF!” he bellowed when Boyd moved too slowly. He rolled, hurling the Beta off him. He kept going, landing on his feet, staring at the pack members, trying to locate the source of the distress. 

“Who’s hurt?” he barked. They stared back at him, their faces registering the moment when their awareness joined his. They were all healthy, Derek’s senses told him. “Who’s hurt, dammit?” he snarled.

Scott’s mouth dropped open. “Stiles,” he whispered.

He scrambled to his feet, but Derek was ahead of him, racing across the clearing toward the copse of trees where Stiles had been running. 

He was standing now, head down, staring at his feet. His heartbeat was uncertain, his scent desperate.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled.

Stiles looked up and stared at Derek, his eyes wide and uncertain. Then he collapsed and fell to his knees.


	10. Chapter 10

Derek dropped to his knees next to Stiles, peering closely at his face. To his alarm, Stiles’ skin was pale, his freckles and moles standing out in sharp relief, and his lips were blue. His pulse, visible at his neck, was thready and quick. 

“Stiles!” Derek put a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me.” 

Stiles stared at him, his eyes stunned and confused. 

“Can you breathe?”

Stiles took a cautious breath, then nodded.

“Does your chest hurt?”

Stiles looked bewildered.

“Stiles!” Derek shook him a little. “Does it hurt?” He placed his hand on Stiles’ heart, prepared to draw the pain out, but he shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, but his eyes widened in panic as the rest of the pack rushed up.

“Stay back!” Derek ordered. “Give him some air.”

The pack obeyed, except for Scott, who crouched down in front of Stiles.

“Dude, are you okay? Did it happen again?”

“This has happened before?” Derek asked sharply.

Stiles shook his head, but Scott nodded.

“Once or twice,” he admitted. Stiles glared at him.

“Has he seen a doctor?” 

Stiles nodded 

Scott scratched his head.

“Scott…” Derek warned.

Scott sighed. “No.”

“Dude!” he added when Stiles punched him weakly in the arm. “It’s not like he can’t tell you’re lying. He doesn’t want to,” he told Derek, “because he thinks they won’t let him play lacrosse.”

“I don’t know what he’s worried about,” Jackson put in. “He’s not first line. It’s not like he’s gonna play anyway.”

Stiles’ hands were shaking, but he managed to flip Jackson off.

“If he’s having episodes like this, he probably shouldn’t be playing,” Derek said. “I’m taking you to the doctor,” he told Stiles.

Stiles shook his head vigorously.

“He doesn’t like doctors,” Scott said.

“I don’t care if he doesn’t like them!” Derek snapped. “He’s going.”

Stiles had been leaning into Derek’s touch, but now he straightened, shoving his hand away, and shook his head again.

“You’re going,” Derek said, “and that’s final.”

The color came back in Stiles’ cheeks as he frantically searched his pockets, clearly looking for his phone and journal. But they were both in the backpack, back in the training ground. Stiles gave up and punched Scott in the arm again, harder.

Scott sighed and looked at Derek. “He says you can’t make him.”

“The hell I can’t,” Derek said. “I’m the Alpha. I can make him do anything I want.”

***

Two weeks later, Derek paced the floor of his office, talking on his cell to Laura.

“It’s insane!” he said. “I’m the Alpha, and I can’t get these damn kids to do a fucking thing I want!”

She laughed. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“The problem is that they’re teenagers!” Derek yelled.

Laura sighed. “Walk me through it, little bro. Talk it out.”

“Okay. Okay.” Derek rubbed his eyes. “First of all, I have no authority over these kids in the human world, aside from the fact that they’re supposedly helping restore my house. And ninety percent of the time, they’re somewhere else. During the day, they all go to high school. High school! I have no way of knowing if they’re safe, I have no way of protecting them, unless I want to get arrested for lurking outside a _building full of children_ like some creeper. Or like Peter.”

“Okay,” Laura said. “Keep going.”

“After school, they have lacrosse practice and math club and homecoming committee and part-time jobs, and I swear Stiles gets detention at least twice a week. And at night, they’re with their parents, who have no idea their little darlings are freaking werewolves, aside from Scott’s mother, so they can’t exactly say, ‘Hey, Dad, I’ll be at my Alpha’s tonight so don’t wait up, okay?’”

“But I thought you said they stayed at the house once a week.”

Derek gave up pacing and collapsed in his chair. “The whole pack is here on the weekends, and they take turns staying at the house on weeknights, but only because they cover for one another with an elaborate system of _lies_. They had to make me an Excel spreadsheet so I can keep track of it. If it’s Tuesday, that means Lydia will be telling her father she’s studying with Allison, when really she’s here, and meanwhile Isaac is lying to the school every day, telling them his father is away on business so he can’t sign his permission slip for the science field trip, when really the guy is probably dead and buried somewhere in the desert.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Helpless!” Derek sputtered. “Angry! And Stiles—” He breaks off.

“Yes?” Laura prompts.

“I tell him what to do, and the kid just looks at me and nods and then does whatever the hell he wants.”

“Hmmm,” Laura mused. “Has Dad given you the obedience through love speech?”

“Yes,” Derek groaned. “Twice.”

“It really does work, you know.”

“Oh, please,” Derek groused. “What do you know? Your Betas are all patent attorneys.”

“Excuse me, the term is intellectual property attorney,” Laura said primly. “And what does that have to do with anything?’

“Well, first, they all work for you, so they _have_ to do what you say. And second, they’re all adults. You’re around them all day long, in the same building, and they live in their own gated community. I bet they get along, too.”

“Not perfectly,” Laura said. “There are always personality conflicts and arguments.”

“Personality conflicts,” Derek growled. “Please. These kids, one minute they’re BFFs or besties or whatever, the next minute they hate each other’s guts. It’s a constant emotional rollercoaster. The full moon is coming next week, and I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get them through it in one piece.”

“Derek.” Laura gently interrupted his rant. “Did you ever think maybe Dad gave you this assignment for a reason?”

“Why, because I’m a complete and utter failure as an Alpha?”

“No, because you understand what they’re going through. Your whole life, you’ve struggled with controlling your shift and dealing with your emotions. You can help them in a way no one else could.”

“So you’re saying I’m a grown man who’s still a teenager?”

“Well, on your best days you’re more like a cranky toddler.”

Derek laughed in spite of himself, then leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. It was late Wednesday afternoon, and Scott and Stiles would be heading over after lacrosse practice. Derek was glad — the house was way too quiet without his pack in it. And maybe he could attempt to have the doctor conversation with Stiles again. The boy hadn’t had another episode, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t— 

“Derek?”

Derek rubbed his eyes again. “Sorry, sis. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“It’s just…Jesus, Laura, I worry about them constantly. Are they safe? Are they happy? How badly did Peter fuck them up and what can I do to fix it? Hell, I worry about their _grades_. If Scott fails algebra, they won’t let him play lacrosse, and he’s worked so hard to make first line. I think Boyd may have had dyslexia because his teachers treat him like an _idiot_ , but he’s actually brilliant and—" 

He broke off. “I’m sorry. I mean, is it like this for you, being the Alpha?”

“Not…really.” Laura sounded almost wistful.

“But, you feel a bond, right? Like you’re connected to them no matter how far away they are.” 

“I guess. But I don’t think it’s as strong as you’re describing.”

Derek’s ears picked up the sound of Stiles’ car, sounding even worse than usual, and he felt himself relax a little. He turned and stared out the window at the trees — he had converted the parlor in the back of the house into his office.

“Do you ever think maybe Peter was right?”

“About what?” 

“Maybe we’ve gotten too civilized, too far away from the wild.”

“You’re not turning rogue on me, are you?” Laura asked, sounding alarmed.

“No,” Derek insisted. “I’m just saying that maybe, when we live in the city, our instincts don’t work like they should.”

A car door slammed, and Derek caught a whiff of Scott’s scent, which smelled a little strange.

“I like the city,” Laura laughed. “And I like civilization, thank you very much. I’m not interested in denning up on a hill in the middle of nowhere. And speaking of civilization, have you called Kate lately?”

“I talked to her last week,” Derek muttered. There were footsteps on the porch — light but determined.

“I said ‘lately,’ Derek. Last week is not ‘lately.’”

“I’ll call her tonight. Listen, sis, I gotta go.”

“Wait, Derek—”

Derek hung up. At the same time, there was a pounding on the front door.

“Derek Hale!” a voice yelled. “Open up! I know you’re in there!”

***

When Derek opened the door, he saw a thin woman with curly dark hair, dressed in hospital scrubs. Her face was kind but care-worn, and at the moment, extremely angry. She held a huge baking pan covered with aluminum foil, which she shoved into Derek’s hands.

“Enchiladas,” she snapped. “Reheat in the oven, 300 degrees, then run under the broiler until the cheese melts.”

Derek stared at her. “Excuse me?”

The woman rolled her eyes and snatched the pan back. “Fine, I’ll do it.” She shoved her way past Derek. “Where’s your kitchen?’

Derek found himself pointing. “That way.” 

She marched down the hall, and Derek had no choice but to follow in her wake.

He found the woman glaring at the ancient stove with her hands on her hips.

“Um, you’re Scott’s mother, right?” Derek asked. “Melissa McCall?”

“Gosh, you’re good,” she said sarcastically. “What took you so long?”

“Um…” Derek decided he didn’t want to get into the whole _smelling_ thing. “Can I help you?” he added as she continued to glare at the oven.

“How does this thing even work?”

“Oh.” Derek stepped forward and turned the knob. “You said three hundred, right?”

“Yes, until they’re heated through, then take off the aluminum foil and put them under the broiler until the cheese browns.” She turned and looked around the kitchen. “Please tell me you at least have a modern coffee maker.”

“Over there,” Derek pointed to a counter, then quickly got out of the way as Melissa marched over.

“You want some?” 

“Please,” Derek said, as she filled the carafe with water. “So, um, I guess you want to talk to me about Scott.”

“Got it again. You are just on a roll today.” Melissa’s voice was still sharp, but muffled somehow, and she kept her back turned as she added ground coffee to the filter and hit the start button.

“Are you okay?” 

Derek took a step back in alarm as Melissa spun around, tears in her eyes. 

“No, I am not okay! First of all, your evil, crazy uncle turned my beautiful baby boy into a _werewolf_.” Melissa automatically lowered her voice to a whisper. “And now you’re stealing him away from me!”

Derek frowned. “I’m not…I didn’t…what?”

Melissa wiped her eyes impatiently and whirled again, looking around her. “Where do you keep your damn coffee cups, or do you just drink it straight out of the pot?”

“Over there.” Afraid to get near her, Derek pointed to the cupboard behind Melissa. “Sugar’s in there, too. Cream is in the fridge.”

Melissa pulled two mugs from the cupboard, slammed them on counter, and got the carton out of the refrigerator. “ _Obviously_ , the cream is in the fridge,” she hissed. “Otherwise it _curdles_.” Then she leaned against the cabinets and put her head in her hands, weeping.

“Oh, crap,” Derek said. “Uh…do you want to sit down?”

Melissa’s dark curls hid her face, but she nodded forlornly. Careful not to touch her, Derek steered her into the living room and pulled out a chair. She collapsed into it, putting her head down on the table as she sobbed.

Derek hurried back into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and set it at her elbow. He rustled up a box of tissue from the pantry and set that down as well. Then the coffee maker dinged, so he hurried back into the kitchen, poured two cups, added cream and sugar (for shock, he thought) and carried them back to the living room.

Fortunately, Melissa was regaining her composure, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

“Thank you,” she said, as Derek set her cup down. She sniffled, tucked the tissue in the pocket of her scrubs, and wrapped both hands around the mug. After a moment, she took a cautious sip, and some of the color came back in her cheeks.

“Better?” Derek asked hopefully.

Melissa nodded, then took a deep breath. 

“Don't get me wrong,” she said, as if her whole meltdown hadn’t happened. “I understand that having you here makes Scott and Stiles and the other kids safer. I may not know much about your world, but I do know that much, and I appreciate it. I mean, obviously I hate the whole situation,” she added, glaring at Derek.

“I understand,” Derek said quickly. He rested his fingertips against Melissa's hand. To his surprise, she didn’t shove him away. “I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, how sorry my family is for this whole mess. What Peter did was unforgivable, not to mention illegal. If he hadn’t died in that fire, he would have been executed for it.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” Melissa said frankly. “But what’s done can’t be undone. Right?” she added, a hint of hope in her voice.

“No, it can’t,” Derek said gently. “I’m sorry.”

Melissa looked away, staring out the window. “I used to worry about Scott and Stiles doing drugs,” she said. “Getting in car accidents, getting girls pregnant. Normal teenage stuff.” 

She laughed ruefully, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d have to worry about them being bitten by a werewolf or killed by a giant lizard.”

“You’re being very brave,” Derek told her. “Most humans completely come unglued when they encounter the supernatural.”

“Oh, don’t patronize me,” Melissa snapped, but without any real heat.

Derek took a deep breath, then linked his hand in hers. “Mrs. McCall, look at me.” 

When she did, he spoke slowly, willing her to grasp his sincerity. “I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to keep your boys safe.”

“I think I believe you,” she murmured. “It’s just…” To Derek’s horror, her tears started to flow again. “Do the boys have to be here every night?” She pressed a hand to her heart, as if it ached. “I just miss them both so much.” 

“Every night?” Derek frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Scott and Stiles,” she said, staring at him. “They’ve been staying here every night. Scott told me they have training. I appreciate you teaching the boys to defend themselves, but—“

“Wait, wait.” Derek waved a hand. “Scott and Stiles have only stayed over here on Saturdays. Otherwise, they’ve been at your house. Scott told me you didn’t feel safe being in the house alone at night…”

His voice trailed off as understanding dawned. Melissa’s eyes widened as she came to the same realization.

“Those little stinkers,” she said.


	11. Chapter 11

“I feel like an idiot,” Derek groaned.

“Don’t,” Melissa advised. They were on their second cup of coffee and were splitting a bag of Oreos that had somehow survived the teenage onslaught. “Believe me,” she said darkly, “you aren’t the first person those two have conned.”

“You don’t understand,” Derek said. “I’m a werewolf. I’m supposed to be able to tell when someone is lying.”

“Really?” Melissa’s brow wrinkled as she reached for an Oreo. “How?”

“The same way a lie detector does,” Derek explained. “When a person lies, their heart rate and breathing speed up. Even their scent changes.”

“Well, apparently, my son’s such a talented liar that none of that happens.” Melissa gave a sarcastic smile as she dunked the Oreo in her coffee. “And Stiles has always been his partner in crime. Plus,” she added through a mouthful of cookie, “I bet they communicate with you mostly through texting.”

Derek blinked. “They do, actually.”

“Much easier to lie that way. The cell phone is the bane of our age,” Melissa shook her head, then shoved the package of Oreos across the table. “Okay, take these away from me before I explode.”

“Speaking of Stiles…” Derek picked out an Oreo, turning it over in his hands. “Does he have a heart condition?’

“A heart condition?” Alarmed, Melissa stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “What do you mean?”

“A week or so ago, when we were training, Stiles collapsed. He didn’t tell you about it?”

“No.” Melissa set her coffee cup down, her lips tight with anger. “Tell me more.”

“It’s like his heart skipped or stuttered.”

Melissa’s eyes widened. “Like a heart murmur?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Derek shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t get him to go to the doctor. Scott said—"

Melissa held up her hand. “Let me guess. Stiles was worried he wouldn’t get to play lacrosse.”

“Yeah, plus apparently he hates doctors.”

Melissa let out a long breath, her anger easing. “Well, that’s true. There was the whole ADHD thing—"

“Stiles has ADHD?” Derek asked sharply. “Is he on medication for that?” It might explain the boy’s strange scent.

“Well, he’s _supposed_ to be,” Melissa said dryly. “Whether or not he actually takes it is anybody’s guess.” She sighed, her face softening. “And he saw a lot of doctors after the fire. Psychologists, social workers, you name it.”

“Scott told me Stiles hasn’t spoken since it happened,” Derek said quietly.

“No, he hasn’t.” Melissa shook her head sadly. “You must think I’m terribly neglectful.”

Derek blinked. “Why would I think that?”

Melissa grimaced and pushed her coffee cup aside. “Anna, Stiles’ mother, she and I were good friends. We basically raised our boys together, as brothers. When she and John died, I didn’t hesitate for a minute to take Stiles in. My husband, on the other hand…”

She shook her head.

“He didn’t want Stiles around?” Derek asked.

Melissa snorted. “Gavin barely wanted Scott around, most days, let alone Stiles.” She toyed with her necklace. “I’m ashamed, now, of how long I stayed with him.”

“Did you love him?”

Melissa smiled, blinking back tears. “We were high school sweethearts, you know? Everybody just assumed we should get married and have kids. I thought it would be like a fairy tale: ‘And they lived happily ever after.’ It’s why I worry so much about Scott and Allison,” she admitted. “I can see them heading down the same road.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Melissa said quickly. “I know they love each other. I just don’t want them to settle down too soon, like Gavin and I did.” She shook her head. “I kept telling myself he just needed time to get used to married life, to being a father. As if 16 years weren’t enough time,” she added, her tone bitter.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Derek said. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Melissa said thoughtfully. “Do you know how I found out Scott had been bitten? Gavin and I were arguing, and he said something mean to me. I don’t even remember what it was. He never hit me, or the boys,” she told Derek. “But he could be…cruel in what he said.”

“What happened then?” Derek asked softly.

“Scott turned, right there at the dinner table. Fangs, claws, the whole works. He told his father to get the hell out, and if he ever saw him again he’d rip his throat out with his teeth. So Gavin left. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since. Trust me, we are all better off. But…”

“But what?” Derek asked.

Melissa shrugged. “But I went back to work fulltime. More than fulltime, actually, trying to make ends meet. So things with the boys have kind of fallen through the cracks. The night they were out in the woods, and Scott got bit? I was working a late shift and—"

“Don’t,” Derek interrupted. “It’s not your fault.”

“But if I had been home, or at least keeping better track of them—”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek said again. “It’s not even the kids’ fault for being out in the woods that night. It’s Peter’s fault, plain and simple.”

“Well, maybe.” Melissa smiled shyly. “But I haven’t been good about keeping up with the boys. I just assume they’re brushing their teeth and doing their homework and staying out of trouble, unless I hear otherwise.” She frowned.

“What is it?” Derek asked.

“These past two weeks, if the boys weren’t at my house, and they weren’t here, then where have they been hiding out? I know they’ve been in school, otherwise I would have gotten a phone call.”

Derek thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Isaac.”

“Isaac from the lacrosse team?” Melissa asked. “He’s pack, right?”

“Yes, and his father is…out of town on business.”

Melissa’s lips tightened again. “So the boys are staying at his house,” she said. “All three of them. With no adult supervision.”

“Trust me,” Derek said grimly. “They’re about to get a world of adult supervision.”

***

When Scott and Stiles arrived twenty minutes later, Derek was seated at the table, waiting. Scott bounded into the living room, sniffing the air happily.

“Dude, it smells awesome in here! Just like my mom’s enchiladas…”

His voice trailed off.

“Oh, crap,” he said.

“Hello, boys,” Melissa purred as she appeared in the doorway behind them.

Stiles and Scott startled, clutching at each other. It would have been hilarious, if Derek hadn’t been so pissed.

“Mom!” Scott squeaked, then tried to cover. “We, uh, didn’t see your car.”

“That’s because I hid it in the garage.” Melissa pointed to the table. “Now sit your miscreant asses down. The four of us are going to have a talk.”

***

“So, to sum up, here’s how it’s going to be.” Derek paced the floor as the spoke. Melissa stood at the other end of the table, arms folded, while the boys slumped in their chairs. “Scott, you will spend the next week at your mother’s house, unless you’re in school, at work, or here on pack business. Stiles will stay here, unless he’s at school or Deaton’s. At the end of the week, you will rotate. Stiles, you’ll stay with Mrs. McCall; Scott, you’ll be here. Your mother and I will check in with each other twice a day to make sure you’re both where you’re supposed to be. Do you have any questions?”

Scowling, Stiles whipped out his phone and typed something. Scott peered over his shoulder and frowned. “Dude, that’s not really a question.”

Stiles nudged him, hard, so Scott sighed and spoke. “He says we’re grown men, not little kids.”

“Is that so? Well, let me tell you something.” Derek planted his fists on the table and leaned closer to the boys. “A grown man doesn’t make his mother cry.”

Stiles blanched while Scott’s eyes widened. “Mom, you were crying?”

“She was _sobbing_ ,” Derek hissed. “Apparently, she misses you two, although why she would miss anyone who caused her such heartache is beyond me.”

The boys sunk further in their chairs. Behind them, Melissa raised her eyebrows at Derek in appreciation.

“Anything else you want to say?” Derek asked.

Both boys fidgeted, looking at each other. Then Stiles signaled with his chin, and Scott sighed again. “Just…don’t be mad at Isaac, okay? It wasn’t his idea.”

“I know _that_ ,” Derek said. “Despite what you two seem to think, I’m not a complete idiot. But for the record, Isaac is grounded, too, and he’s not living on his own anymore. He’s going to join you at your mother’s house, then here the week after. And,” he added, “the Hale Corporation will contribute to the household income, so your mother doesn’t have to work her fingers to the bone trying to keep you three fed.”

The boys slumped even lower, until their chins were almost resting on the table.

“Okay.” Derek folded his arms. “Here’s what’s going to happen now. We’re all going to sit and enjoy some delicious enchiladas that your mother has prepared. Then the two of you are going to accompany her to the hospital while I go collect Isaac. Scott, take your homework. Stiles…”

Stiles looked at Derek, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and a hint of betrayal. Derek steeled himself and ploughed ahead. 

“Mrs. McCall has made an appointment for you with one of the doctors on call. You’re going to get a full physical.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open in mingled shock and outrage. Again, under different circumstances, it might have been funny.

“If the doctor clears you to play,” Derek said, “you can continue with lacrosse. If not, you’re off the team.”

Stiles shot up in his chair and pounded his fist on the table in rage. The lights flickered overhead.

“Dude, that’s harsh,” Scott said. 

“Scott,” Melissa said warningly, and he subsided, folding his arms on the table and resting chin on them like a scolded puppy.

Stiles’ glare was so sharp it could cut glass, but Derek just met his gaze calmly. 

“I may not have any legal authority over you, Stiles, but Mrs. McCall is still your court-appointed guardian. So don’t even think about disobeying her, or trying to skip out on this appointment. And by the way, we’ve also apprised Dr. Deaton of the situation, so he’ll be keeping a close eye on you as well. And he asked me to tell you, that if you continue in this sort of behavior, he’ll stop training you in magic.”

Stiles gaped at him, bending almost in half in shock and flailing his arms in protest. He looked at Melissa.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But I made a promise to your mom that I’d take care of you and keep you safe, and that means making sure you’re healthy.”

At the mention of his mother, all the fight went out of Stiles. Tears started in his eyes, and he collapsed back in his chair, ducking his head. Derek could feel the waves of grief pouring off him, mingled with resentment. Derek’s hands twitched, automatically wanting to comfort a pack member in pain, but he forced himself to resist.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “We’re done here. You boys set the table for dinner. We’ll need to make it quick, because Mrs. McCall’s due at the hospital within the hour.”

The boys obeyed, slinking off to the kitchen, Scott was chastened, avoiding Derek’s gaze, but Stiles stopped in front of him, arms folded, and gave Derek the benefit of his most lethal glare.

“Yeah, you hate me,” Derek said. “I get it. And I don’t care.” He gently turned Stiles by the shoulders and gave him a little shove toward the kitchen. “Go,” he said. “There’s a salad in the fridge,” he added as Stiles stomped off, disappearing around the corner.

Derek looked at Melissa. They couldn’t say anything because of Scott’s wolf-hearing, but Derek slumped against the wall in exaggerated relief, while Melissa did a little victory dance. Then they high-fived in slow motion.

They jumped apart when Stiles stalked back in the room, carrying a stack of plates. Avoiding their eyes, he grumpily set a stack of plates on the table, then stalked haughtily back into the kitchen.

Melissa cracked up, muffling her laughter in her sleeve. “I think you’re getting the hang of this teenage thing,” she said quietly. “Well done with the scolding,” she added. “Your guilt-fu is clearly stronger than mine.”

Derek laughed. “I learned from the best,” he said.

He remembered the exchange two hours later as he sat in the Camaro outside the hospital, waiting for Stiles. Isaac sat in the passenger seat, calmly playing a game on his phone. He hadn’t been surprised when Derek showed up, and actually, he seemed relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I just…” He looked around the house and shrugged his shoulders. “I kinda don’t like living here alone,” he admitted. “All those years I just wanted my father to disappear and now…”

He shrugged again, then looked quickly at Derek. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad he’s gone. But it’s pretty quiet here by myself, so when Scott and Stiles asked, I said yes. I just like being around the pack,” he added quietly, ducking his head.

Derek put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, pleased when he didn’t wince. “And the pack likes having you around,” he said.

Isaac beamed at him, and Derek felt his heart clutch. How anybody could abuse such a sweet soul was beyond him.

“So are you okay with the plan we came up with?” he asked. 

Isaac hesitated, then nodded. “It’s time,” he said. “And I like Mrs. McCall.”

“Good.” Derek gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Go pack your stuff.”

His lecture to the boys — and Melissa’s comment — were still on his mind when they pulled up outside the hospital, so he took the opportunity to call his mother. Her obvious delight at hearing from him made him feel like even more of a heel.

“How are things?” she asked, after she had filled him in on family news. “Laura said you were having some problems disciplining your Betas.”

“Everything’s fine,” Derek said, silently cursing his older sister.

“Your father has a wonderful philosophy—”

“I know.”

“It’s all about—”

“Obedience through love. I know, Mom.” Derek rubbed his eyes. “But it’s all settled now.”

“You’re going to make such a wonderful father, Derek,” she said fondly.

“What?” Derek sat up. “Where did that come from?”

“A mother can’t want grandchildren?”

“Of course you can, Mom, but why don’t you bug Laura about it? She’s older than I am. She should make babies first.” Isaac’s eyes were still innocently focused on his phone, but a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. Derek glared at him, but his smile only deepened.

Meanwhile, Derek’s mother sighed in his ear. “Yes, she is, but she’s so busy with her career. And she and Marcus never bonded the way you and Kate have. Did I tell you Kate and I had lunch yesterday?”

“Twice,” Derek ground out.

“Well, don’t bite my head off.”

“I’m not, Mom.” Derek rubbed his eyes again. “It’s just—"

“I know the two of you didn’t part on the best of terms, but you should call her. She told me she misses you. Not that I’m trying to tell you what do to.”

“Of course not.” Derek rested his head on the steering wheel. He could feel Isaac vibrating with laughter next to him.

“You’re just such a lovely couple. I think it would be a shame if things didn’t work out.”

“Uh-huh. Listen, Mom, I gotta go. Pack business.”

“Oh, well, I certainly don’t want to interrupt—”

“I love you and I’ll talk to you soon, okay? ‘Bye!” Derek hung up.

“Dude,” Isaac said after a long silence. “That was brutal.”

“Tell me about it. The woman doesn’t need claws.” Derek hit speed dial, cursing when he got Laura’s voicemail. “You are so dead,” he told her, then hung up.

“There they are,” Isaac said. Derek looked through the window and saw Stiles and Melissa emerging from the back entrance of the hospital. A quick glance at the security camera showed it had been switched off according to plan. 

“Wait here,” he told Isaac. He got out of the Camaro and walked over. Melissa had her hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He looked sullen, but not as upset as he had before.

“What’s the word?” Derek asked.

“Doctor Miles couldn’t find anything wrong with his heart, thank God,” Melissa said. “But he wants to run a few more tests.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

“He’s a little concerned because his weight is low, and he seems a little anemic,” Melissa continued, unruffled by Stiles’ attitude. “So we need to stay on top of that.”

“That’s easily done,” Derek said. “What about lacrosse?”

“He’s cleared for now,” Melissa answered, “but we need to keep an eye on him, and if he has another episode, we’re to bring him in immediately.”

“It’s a good thing we’re going to all his games, then.” Derek smirked at Stiles. 

“Isn’t it?” Melissa smiled as well. “We’ll both watch out for him.”

Stiles, meanwhile, rolled his eyes so far it’s a wonder they didn’t fall out. 

Melissa ruffled his hair affectionately. “Take care, honey,” she said. She kissed his cheek. Stiles scowled and ducked his head, but allowed it.

Derek turned and beckoned Isaac, who got out of the car, carrying his duffel bag. He walked up cautiously, his eyes wary but hopeful. 

Melissa smiled at him. “Hi, sweetie,” she said. “You ready?’

Isaac swallowed but smiled shyly back. “Yes, Mrs. McCall.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Melissa told Derek.

“Thank you,” Derek said sincerely. “For everything.”

She nodded, then slung a friendly arm around Isaac’s shoulders and led him toward the hospital. Derek, in turn, took Stiles’ shoulder and steered him toward the car.

Stiles twitched, but Derek kept his grasp firm. He opened the car door and shoved Stiles into the passenger seat. “Seatbelt,” he said, pointing at it.

Huffing with annoyance, Stiles buckled his seatbelt while Derek got in the driver’s side and buckled his own. He drove off into the night, with Stiles pouting and furious beside him. His leg jiggled constantly in agitation, and he gnawed on his fingernail, glaring out the window and pointedly refusing to look at Derek.

Derek didn’t try to talk to him, just drove calmly back to Hale House. The woods were dark, the waxing moon hidden by clouds, and the wind was tossing the tree branches overhead.

Half a mile from home, Stiles sat up abruptly in his seat, his heart beat spiking in alarm. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

Stiles turned, peering out the back window. Derek extended his senses, but couldn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. 

“Stiles!” he said sharply. “What is it?”

Suddenly, Stiles lunged across the seat, twisting the wheel in Derek’s hands. The movement caught Derek off guard, and the car veered wildly across the road.

Derek stomped on the brake as the Camaro crashed into the underbrush. The car stopped so suddenly that both he and Stiles were thrown forward into dashboard.

Derek’s head hit the steering wheel, and for a second, everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12

Derek woke seconds later, cursing a blue streak. His forehead hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but he could feel the injury healing already. 

He shook his head to clear it, then glanced at the passenger seat.

It was empty.

“Shit!” Clumsy with panic, Derek unbuckled his seatbelt, then scrambled out of the car and around it.

The passenger side door was ajar, and Stiles’ phone lay on the forest floor next to it, broken in pieces.

Derek looked frantically around him.

“Stiles!” he shouted. “Stiles!”

There was no answer. Instead, the wind howled overhead, and branches flung by the gale thrashed against his face.

Derek fought his way out of the branches and undergrowth, then raised his head and scented the air.

He caught a faint hint of Stiles’ scent before the wind snatched it away.

Derek cursed again, then scrambled up the small embankment and back up onto the road.

He stopped, staring in horror. An enormous tree lay across the road, its branches shattered by the impact. 

If the car hadn’t swerved, Derek realized, the tree would have crushed it.

If Stiles’ hadn’t _made him_ swerve, Derek thought. Somehow, Stiles had known.

Derek raised his head, scenting again. Again, he caught a whiff of Stiles, but the wind made it difficult to sense his location or determine if he was injured.

Derek threw back his head and howled long and loud into the night.

The wind howled back as if mocking him.

Furious, Derek bared his teeth and growled deep in his chest.

Instantly, the wind died, leaving silence its wake. The clouds drifted away, and after a few moments the moon reappeared, illuminating the gravel road and turning the tips of the leaves silver.

Derek blinked in surprise. 

“What the hell?” he asked.

His phone rang, making his heart jump. 

Derek swore in embarrassment, then answered. It was Boyd, sounding frantic.

“Derek, are you okay? What happened?”

“Car accident,” Derek snapped. “On the road to my house.”

“Are you okay?’

“I’m fine, but I can’t find Stiles. Get up here,” Derek ordered. “And bring Jackson with you.” 

“On it.” Boyd hung up, and once again, Derek was thankful for the Beta’s calm, steady nature. 

Derek shoved both phones in his jacket pockets, then realized he was shaking from head to toe. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stand still for a moment, grounding himself in the earth, until the shaking ceased.

He opened his eyes, and that’s when he saw it — a faint light beyond the trees. 

Derek ran toward the distant light, ducking between the tree trunks and undergrowth, keeping his movements as silent as he could. If someone — or some _thing_ — had Stiles, he didn’t want to alert the enemy to his presence.

He slowed down as he got closer, the light flickering ahead like a will-o-the-wisp. Derek came to the edge of a clearing in the trees and paused, staring.

Stiles stood in the center of the clearing. His eyes were closed in concentration, his lips moving as if he was whispering. His hands were extended, palms out and fingers spread, and he was surrounded by a nimbus of light.

The light was phosphorescent, like the glow of fireflies, and like fireflies, sparks of energy flew around Stiles, zipping in quick patterns. The light seemed to rotate, as well, wreathing around the boy and rippling at the edges. Derek felt every hair on his body rise as it sensed the flowing current of power.

Suddenly, the light winked out. With a small, hitching breath, Stiles fell forward, landing on his knees and pressing his palms against the earth.

“Stiles!” Derek burst forward from the tree, ran across the clearing, and knelt beside Stiles. The boy’s eyes were closed, his features slack, and his mouth hung open as he gasped for air. The strange metallic scent was back, stronger than ever.

“Stiles!” Derek said again. “Are you okay?” He reached out, but hesitated to touch him, as he could still feel sizzling threads of power in the air. “Stiles!”

Stiles’ eyes flew open and he stared at Derek. 

“Are you okay?”

Stiles’ eyes widened further. Then he grasped Derek’s shirt front and dragged him to his feet, gesturing wildly around him.

“Yeah, I know, I saw it,” Derek said. Stiles shook his head and kept turning, pulling Derek toward the trees, until Derek grasped him by his upper arms and held him in place. 

“Stiles!” he barked. “Are you okay?”

Stiles stared at him. His face was pale, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. Derek tightened his grip, shaking him a little. “Are. You. Hurt?” he asked, enunciating each word. “Did you get hurt, when we crashed?”

Stiles shook his head, then pointed at the trees.

“I know, a tree fell,” Derek said. “I saw it.”

Stiles shook his head frantically, then gestured again. When Derek frowned in confusion, Stiles rolled his eyes and stepped back. He made a motion with his hands as if turning the wheel of a car.

“Yeah, we were driving.” 

Stiles snapped his fingers at Derek in approval, then pointed to his ear.

“Sounds like?” Derek said helplessly.

Stiles threw up his hands in disgust. He stomped in a quick circle in frustration, then faced Derek again. He pointed to his ear, then pounded his fist on his chest, then made the steering wheel motion again, tilting his body to the side.

“You heard something, so you made me swerve the car.” Derek frowned. “You heard the tree start to fall? How is that possible? You don’t have wolf hearing.”

Stiles rolled his eyes again, his body sagging in annoyance. He grasped Derek’s jacket with both hands and shook him.

“I know, I’m trying!” Derek’s head still hurt, and he was starting to lose his patience.

Stiles pointed two fingers to his own eyes.

“I _am_ watching.” Derek snapped. 

Stiles stepped back and repeated the sequence — driving motion, pointing to his ear, pounding his chest. Then he stepped further back, gesturing to the clearing around him. Then he pointed to the trees and made swaying motions with his arms.

“Windy. Yeah, it was windy. That’s why the tree fell.”

Stiles shook his head, then swirled his arms again. He closed his eyes and held his hands out, the same posture he had been in when Derek found him.

Derek’s ears picked up the sound of a car approaching. He turned his head, trying to identify the engine. It didn’t sound like Boyd’s. 

Stiles darted forward, tugging at Derek’s shirt.

“Hang on a second,” Derek said crossly. Any car this far up the mountain was officially beyond the preserve and on Hale property. 

Stiles tugged again.

“Hang on,” Derek repeated. With the tree blocking the way, the road was a perfect place for an ambush. Derek felt his claws and fangs start to extend at the thought.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s chin and swung his face toward him, breaking his concentration.

“For God’s sake, Stiles!” Derek yelled. “If you’ve got something to say, JUST FUCKING SAY IT!”

Even as he spoke, he felt his Alpha roar pour into his voice. He closed his mouth with a snap, but it was too late. Stiles backpedaled, scrambling and tripping away from Derek until he fetched up against a tree. As his back slammed into the trunk, he flung his arms up to shield himself, turning his face away in terror and submission.

“Dammit,” Derek swore. 

_This is why you need to work on your control, Derek._

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. He took a step toward Stiles, but the boy flinched, averting his eyes and raising his arms further.

Derek stopped and extended his hands, palms out. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“Derek!”

Derek turned. It was Boyd’s voice, coming from the direction of the road. “Over here!” he yelled.

He turned back to Stiles. His arms were at his sides now, hands gripping the tree bark behind him, but he still wouldn’t meet Derek’s eyes.

“Derek!” Boyd came barreling through the trees, terror in his scent. He skidded to a stop when he saw them. “Oh, thank God. Are you hurt?

“We’re fine,” Derek said. “But we need to get out of here.” He brushed past Boyd and walked back toward the road, mentally berating himself for his slip.

“You okay, buddy?” he heard Boyd ask Stiles, and Derek cringed inside.

Stiles must have answered in the affirmative, though, because he heard both following him. When they reached the road, he saw Jackson’s sports car idling. No wonder he hadn’t recognized the sound, Derek thought. He glanced at Boyd and raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Boyd said. “His is way faster.” He looked at the tree, which was illuminated by the headlights of Jackson’s car, and when he spoke, his voice shook. “Jesus, Derek.”

“I know,” Derek said grimly. He put his hand on Boyd’s shoulder, and the Beta leaned into his touch.

Jackson came scrambling up the embankment, beating tree branches aside in annoyance.

“The Camaro’s okay,” he said with relief. “Dunno why the airbags didn’t deploy, though.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a vintage car, Jackson. It doesn’t have airbags.”

“Seriously?” Jackson frowned. “That’s pretty stupid.”

Stiles smacked himself in the forehead.

“Hang on, I’ll get him,” Erica climbed out of the back of Jackson’s car, her cell phone pressed to her ear. “It’s Isaac,” she told Derek, indicating her phone. 

Derek held out his hand and Erica gave him the phone.

“Isaac?”

“Oh, thank God,” Isaac breathed. “We heard you howling, and then Erica called and said you’d been in a car crash.”

“We’re fine,” Derek said. “There was a little accident, but we’re not hurt.”

“What about Stiles?” Isaac asked. “Scott’s going out of his mind,” he added. “He keeps trying Stiles’ phone, but he’s not picking up.” 

“Stiles is fine. His phone got broken, but he’s not hurt.”

Stiles whirled, staring at Derek in horror. Derek took the pieces of his phone out of his pocket and handed them to Stiles, who cradled them tenderly against his chest, his face stricken. Boyd gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“Should we join you?” Isaac asked eagerly.

“No,” Derek answered. “Stay where you are.”

“Are you sure?” Isaac asked, his voice wavering.

“Absolutely,” Derek said firmly. “I need you to stick with the plan.”

“But—"

“Stick with the plan, Isaac. Can you do that for me?”

Isaac sighed. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Good boy,” Derek said warmly. Even over the phone, he could almost feel Isaac’s blush of pleasure. Then heard Scott’s voice in the background, followed by the two boys arguing.

“No, he said stay here,” he heard Isaac say. “No, he said stick with the plan...No, he said—okay! Geez! Don’t bite my arm off! Derek?” Isaac came back on the line. “Hang on, Scott wants to talk to you.”

Derek sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Put him on.”

“I said gimme, dammit!” Derek heard Scott hiss. “Derek? It’s Scott.”

“Scott, Stiles is fine.”

“But we heard—”

“He’s fine.”

“And then Erica—”

“He’s _fine_ , Scott.”

Scott sighed. “Promise?

“I promise.”

“But…” Derek could picture the wounded puppy look on Scott’s face. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“His phone broke.”

“Aw, man.” Scott sounded a little more like his usual self. “I bet he’s pissed.”

“Yeah,” Derek said absently. Stiles was crouched by the fallen tree, one hand resting against the trunk. He beckoned to Boyd, who leaned over to see what he was pointing at. “Scott, I gotta go. I’ll have Stiles text you.”

He hung up on Scott’s squawk of protest, then walked over, handing Erica’s phone back to her with a nod of thanks. “What did you find?” he asked.

“Check this out.” Boyd extended his claws, then ripped out a sizeable chunk of the tree trunk. The wood underneath crumbled away with a musty scent. “It’s rotted clean through,” he explained.

“Shit.” Derek bent closer to see. “No wonder it fell.”

“You think we can move it?” Jackson asked. 

“It’s worth a try,” Derek shrugged. “I’d rather do that than call a tow truck. Stiles, get back.”

Stiles scrambled out of the way as Derek, Boyd, Jackson, and Erica wolfed out partway, stationing themselves along the trunk. Together, they managed to heave the tree far enough off the road that a car could get through. Then they rolled the Camaro back up onto the roadway. The car was scratched in places, but otherwise undamaged. 

Derek drove carefully around the fallen tree, with Jackson and Erica following in the other car. Boyd sat in the passenger seat of the Camaro — Derek couldn’t believe he’d managed to squeeze himself in Jackson’s coupe in the first place — while Stiles slumped in the back, looking exhausted,

“It’s okay,” Derek told him. “We’ll be home soon.”

Stiles nodded absently, then turned and stared out the window at the darkness. When they reached the house, he hauled himself wearily out of the car and trudged inside as Jackson and Erica walked up to join Boyd.

“We’re staying here tonight,” Erica told Derek, raising her chin like she expected a fight.

Derek hesitated, but saw that Boyd and Jackson looked equally determined. “I’d like that,” he admitted finally. He smiled as the three Betas piled up the porch ahead of him.

They also insisted on piling on the floor around Derek’s bed when he finally turned in, after pacing the floor in agitation for a good hour. When he finished brushing his teeth and glaring at himself in the mirror, he walked back into his bedroom, and there they were, feigning sleep.

Derek glowered for a moment, his hands on his hips, then gave in.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he told them, gesturing toward the bed. “Go on.”

They gleefully clambered on the bed, waiting until Derek joined them before arranging themselves around the Alpha. Erica snuggled between him and Boyd on one side, while Jackson lay on the other — not touching him, but there.

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek asked.

“I checked on him.” Erica yawned and rested her chin on Derek’s shoulder. “He was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him.” Her eyes fluttered closed. On the other side of her, Boyd was snoring already, while Jackson twitched and muttered something about lacrosse.

Within seconds, all three were sound asleep. Derek extended his senses beyond the room. He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat in his room upstairs. (Derek still hadn’t seen the place, since it was strictly off limits to everyone but Scott.)

He listened, but there were no signs of distress in Stiles’ heartbeat.

Even so, Derek didn’t sleep a wink all night.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning, Derek sat staring blearily at the cup of coffee in front of him, too exhausted to drink it. Jackson, Boyd, and Erica had left for school, with strict instructions to text when they got there safely.

Ten minutes later, Stiles bounded downstairs, looking none the worse for wear given the night’s events. 

Damn teenagers, Derek thought wearily.

With a flourish, Stiles presented Derek with a piece of paper. The little shit must have gotten it from Derek’s office, because it was official Hale Corporation letterhead. On it was a handwritten essay entitled _What I Did in the Woods Last Night, by Stiles Stilinski_.

 _Late last night,_ it read, _we were driving through the woods because my dick Alpha made me go the doctor, even though I am JUST FINE. Suddenly, I heard someone calling my name, but not for reals, just in my head._

Derek looked up. “Did you recognize the voice?”

Stiles tapped impatiently on the paper, then headed into the kitchen. Derek started reading again.

_I didn’t recognize the voice, and it wasn’t so much a voice as a feeling. However, the person/feeling knew my real first name and even pronounced it correctly._

“What _is_ your real first name?” Derek asked as Stiles emerged from the kitchen munching on a cold Pop Tart.

Stiles shook his head, then poured himself a cup of coffee. Derek remembered Scott explaining that only Stiles’ mother had been allowed to call him by his real name, so he decided to drop the subject for the time being. He took a sip of his coffee, wincing because it had gone cold, then read on.

_But that’s impossible because no one knows my real name. Anyway, I could tell the person/voice/feeling was warning me. Like, all of a sudden I could tell something terrible would happen if I didn’t stop the car. So I made my dick Alpha stop the car, which is a good thing, otherwise they would be scraping Stiles pancake off the road this morning._

Derek paused to shudder at the thought. Stiles slurped his coffee loudly through a mouthful of Pop Tart.

_I could tell there was magic in the air, so I got out of the car and tried to find it. (I knew Derek would wake up and be fine because he is a badass werewolf, even though he’s also a ginormous dick.) The magic was strong, but I didn’t recognize the signature._

“Magic has a signature?” Derek asked. “Like…a scent for a wolf?”

Stiles nodded, then took another huge bite of Pop Tart. He had a smear of cherry filling on his lower lip, which Derek found far too distracting.

_I followed it into the woods. I could tell the magic made the wind, which made the tree fall, but all of a sudden the wind stopped. I used my spark to try and get more information, but I couldn’t sense anything. We should probably go back and see if we can figure out who cast the spell, and maybe talk to Deaton, too. By the way, you’re a total dick. The End._

Derek sighed and put down the paper. “Okay, you’re right. I was a total dick last night.”

Stiles stopped chewing and stared at Derek, eyes wide in surprise.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Derek went on. “I was just…”

 _Terrified_.

“Frustrated,” he concluded. “I’ve been told I have anger management issues,” he added sheepisly. “I’m actually in therapy for it.”

Stiles tilted his head to one side, in a very Scott-like mannerism. Then he pulled the sheet of paper toward him and took a pen from his pocket. He scribbled something on the back of the paper, then shoved it across the table to Derek.

 _Dude_ , it read. _Therapists suck_.

“Tell me about it,” Derek sighed. “I was pretty dumb last night, too.”

Again, Stiles tilted his head curiously.

“I should have just given you my phone to type on.”

Stiles stared at Derek for a moment, then smacked himself on the forehead.

“I know!” Derek said. “Dumb, right?”

Stiles pointed to his chest.

“Stiles, you’re not dumb,” Derek said sternly. “Far from it.”

Stiles grabbed the paper again, wrote something, and showed it to Derek.

_But I am dumb…mute…get it? LOLOLOL!_

“You exhaust me,” Derek told him.

Stiles grinned proudly.

Derek scrubbed his face for a moment, feeling his stubble scratch his fingers. Then he stopped, staring at Stiles.

“Shouldn’t you be in school right now? The others are.”

 _Study hall_ , Stiles wrote. _First period_.

Derek nodded, then rubbed his chin a little more.

“Something’s wrong in the woods,” he said finally. “Something magical.”

Stiles nodded.

“We need to go check it out.”

Stiles nodded harder.

“Okay,” Derek said. “But then you need to get to school. Just…”

He reached forward. Stiles, scrambling to his feet, hesitated. Derek froze with his thumb about an inch from his lip.

“There’s…you’ve got…” He gestured.

Stiles swiped at his lip with the heel of his hand, stared at the cherry goo in delighted surprise, then licked it off, his tongue pink and wet.

“Get your stuff and take the Jeep.” Derek’s voice rasped, to his embarrassment. “I’ll follow.”

 _Just give me five minutes to beat myself over the head with a brick_.

***

In daylight, the tree looked even more massive than it had in the dark. Derek felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight. The accident (incident? attack?) had been an even closer call than he’d realized.

Stiles, seemingly unaffected by his near-death experience, scrambled over the fallen tree and among the leafy branches.

“Slow down,” Derek warned sharply. “Don’t go wandering off by yourself. God-dammit,” he added as Stiles fell off the trunk with a spectacular flailing of arms, followed by a thud.

Derek leapt on the tree trunk and peered down at Stiles, now lying on his back in the underbrush.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles gave him a cheerful thumbs-up. Then his eyes narrowed, peering at something.

“What is it?”

Stile crawled forward and wiggled under the tree, emerging a moment later, hair and clothing covered with rotting wood and dust, clutching something in his hand. 

Derek leapt down and crouched beside him as Stiles slowly opened his fist.

In his palm lay a rusty nail. Tied to it with a faded red ribbon was what looked like the bone of a small animal.

Derek gave a cautious sniff. He smelled metal and blood and a sharp, bitter scent he couldn’t place.

“Is it magic?” he asked.

Stiles nodded absently, his eyes focused on the object in his palm. He raised his other hand, forefinger extended, and slowly lowered it toward the nail.

Derek was expecting it, but he still jumped when the spark shot out. 

Instantly, the nail hissed and spat like grease in a pan, throwing sparks. Stiles dropped it, then shoved Derek aside, placing himself between the Alpha and the object.

Caught off guard, Derek fell backward. He instantly returned to a crouch, but Stiles placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back with surprising strength. He kept his other hand extended toward the nail, palm out and glowing.

The nail hissed and sparked, spinning on the forest floor with an angry buzz, like a wasp fallen on its back. Stiles watched its movements closely, until it came to a stop with a final twitch. 

Then the sparks flared out and were gone. The glow from Stiles’ hand likewise faded and winked out.

Stiles edged closer, his movements hesitant. Finally, his hand darted forward, and he cautiously touched the nail. He sighed with relief when it remained inert, then picked it up, examining it closely.

“What is it?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head, then crawled over to the tree, running his hand along the bark. After a moment, he made a small grunt of discovery, then beckoned Derek.

Derek went over and peered where Stiles was pointing. There was a narrow hole in the trunk, about the diameter of a pencil. If he hadn’t suspected the nail had made it, Derek would have assumed it had been pecked by a bird searching for insects.

Stiles pressed the nail into the hole, and it fit precisely. A second later, that portion of the trunk crumbled off in a cloud of dust, and more rotted wood poured out of the gap.

They both fell back, coughing. Derek caught hold of Stiles’ flannel shirt, pulled him away from the tree, and kept going until they were back at the car.

There, Stiles tugged off his overshirt and used it to wipe his face. Derek handed him a bottle of water, and he dumped half of it over his head, then took a swig, swished it around his mouth, and spat. 

Derek did the same until they were both able to see again, the dust at least partially rinsed out of their eyes and mouths.

Stiles held up the nail and they both stared it.

“Holy fuck,” Derek said.

Stiles nodded.

“You think it made the tree rot?” 

Stiles shrugged.

“You ever see any magic like that before?”

Stiles shook his head.

“But you think someone did this deliberately,” Derek stated. 

Stiles nodded vigorously.

“But you also think someone tried to warn you.”

Stiles hesitated, then shrugged again. 

_Maybe_ , Derek interpreted. He frowned and took another sip of water. “You’re going to see Deaton after school today, right? Ask him about it.”

Stiles nodded again and stuck the nail in his pocket. 

“I’ll do some digging, too, and see what I can find-–” 

Derek broke off when he glimpsed a red line across Stiles’ palm. He caught his hand and held on when Stiles tried to tug it away.

There was a swollen welt on his skin, as if from a burn. Derek realized it had happened when the nail sparked.

“You’re a walking accident,” he grumbled, then placed his palm over Stiles’, drawing out the pain. He focused on grounding as well, tuning into the cool air on his face, the morning song of the birds, and the heartbeat of the earth beneath his feet.

Another heartbeat joined, fainter than his own, but moving in sync with it. A feeling of deep peace and contentment washed over Derek, and he could feel his muscles, tight since last night, soften and lengthen. His breathing eased as his worry and exhaustion faded.

He raised his head and found Stiles staring at him, biting his lip. His cheeks were flushed. Derek realized with a start that he was standing in the middle of the road, essentially holding hands with a teenage boy under his care.

A teenage boy who was...

“Late for school!” Derek stepped back, jerking his hand away and breaking contact. “You’re gonna be late for school.” 

Stiles blinked, then pulled his hand back, as well, rubbing it against his shirt.

Derek couldn’t resist. “Let me see.”

Stiles held out his hand. The welt was still on his palm, but no longer swollen. 

“Okay.” Derek shoved his own hands in his jacket pockets, ignoring their tingling. “Remember the rules,” he ordered. “School, then Deaton’s, then home. No loitering, no hanging out with Scott.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but obediently climbed in his Jeep and drove off. Derek shook himself all over, like a dog coming out of water, then got in the Camaro and followed.

He tailed Stiles’ Jeep until he saw him pull into the parking lot of the high school. Then he drove to the mechanic’s. Fortunately, the damage to the Camaro from the night before was minimal.

“I can have one of the guys run you home while we fix it,” the mechanic offered. “Then drop the car off later. Should only be a few hours.” 

“No, thank you,” Derek said firmly. Not only did he want to avoid random humans approaching Hale House, he also didn’t want anyone else driving his car, ever. “I’ll just get some errands done in town while you work on it.”

The mechanic nodded easily. “Suit yourself.”

Derek walked downtown, bracing himself for a conversation with the postmistress. He had his mail delivered to a post office box in Beacon Hills, rather than to the house. Again, it cut down on intruders. The fewer curious humans in his territory, Derek figured, the better.

As for werewolves, Derek had made sure his first week that all the sigils had been refreshed, including those by the roadside and in town. To humans, the signs looked like graffiti, but no wolf who ventured with thirty miles could miss their significance: This was Hale Territory, with all rights and privileges thereto and etc. Any wolf, individual or pack, who ventured to cross into said territory had better be prepared to cede Derek his natural rights, or face the consequences.

Derek realized abruptly that he was on the verge of shifting, so he ducked into a convenience store restroom until the sensation passed. Then he anxiously stared at his reflection in the silvered mirror. Was Laura right? he wondered. Was he turning feral like Peter? The thought filled him with disgust. 

_He closed his eyes and imagined himself running under the full moon, his pack at his heels and his mate by his side._

Derek opened his eyes and scowled at his reflection.

“Get it together, Hale,” he told himself. How the hell was he supposed to help his Betas control their impulses, control their shift when he couldn’t master it himself?

Uneasy, he stalked back into the convenience store.

The pimply girl at the cash register glared at him and snapped her gum. “I’m not supposed to let anyone use the can unless they’re a paying customer.”

“Fine,” Derek said between his teeth, trying to turn his snarl into a friendly, if toothy, smile. He bought a six-pack of Red Wolf from the clerk and headed to the post office, where he flashed the same smile at the postmistress, Miss Eileen Hayes. She had served Beacon Hills in the position for forty years, and Derek knew getting on her good side was the key to social approval, not to mention survival, in the tiny town.

As usual, he had to pay a toll in small talk before she would hand over his mail or sell him some stamps.

“Lotta stuff from the office this week,” she remarked as she piled a stack of manila envelopes on the counter, each one bearing the Hale Corporation logo (a triskele).

“They’re keeping me busy,” Derek said, striving for an easygoing tone.

Miss Hayes peered at him over her sparkly reading classes, which hung on a glitzy chain around her neck. Derek steeled himself for the inevitable barrage of questions.

“So, you getting used to small town life?” She smiled, showing slightly yellowed teeth.

“I am.” Derek maintained his even tone and, for added effect, leaned against the counter in what he hoped was a casual manner.

“Must be a big change from LA.”

Derek tried the smile again. “It is, but I like it.”

“Hmmm.” Miss Hayes smelled unconvinced—or perhaps it was just the overwhelming reek of her cigarettes. “Shame about your uncle,” she added as she finally rung up Derek's book of stamps up on the cash register.

Derek made a non-committal noise, hoping it would suffice. But of course it didn’t.

“Don’t suppose you ever found out what he was doing in that warehouse that night.”

“Actually…” Derek thought quickly. “It turned out he was looking to buy it, as an investment. I guess he was hoping to start some businesses in town, maybe contribute to the local economy.” 

He leaned closer with a conspiratorial air. “From what I’ve been able to figure out from his papers, he and Gerard Argent were thinking of going in on the investment together.”

“Oh.” Miss Hayes blinked. “I guess that explains why they were both there. I know the place was for sale, and they could afford it. They were both pretty rich.”

“Mmmm,” Derek nodded. “A little eccentric, too, but I guess there’s nothing wrong with that.” He nearly choked on his genial chuckle. “It’s just a shame they were both inside when the lightning struck and started that fire. What are the odds, right?”

Miss Hayes nodded absently and handed Derek his receipt. He could tell that she was itching for a smoke break, not to mention a chance to share her exclusive scoop. 

He lingered for a few minutes on a park bench near the post office. Sure enough, he saw Miss Hayes lock the door and place a “Back in five” sign in the window, then hurry across the street to the local diner, the Easy Up. The head waitress there, Mary Rae Matthews, was Miss Hayes’ childhood friend and the second-biggest gossip in Beacon Hills. Derek knew that, before nightfall, everyone in town would have heard and digested the intel.

It galled Derek to the bone to burnish Peter’s reputation, but he told himself it was for the best. The fewer questions about the night of the warehouse fire, the better. The pack would be safer that way. Meanwhile, his own cover story was intact: Big city lawyer moves to town to help settle eccentric uncle’s affairs. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.

He paused, tilting his head as he sharpened his hearing. He easily identified Miss Hayes’ voice over the clinking of cutlery and general din of the diner.

“I always said Peter Hale was a good man, if a little odd,” she was saying. “And his nephew is a nice, polite young man. Handsome, too, but a little serious,” she added as Mary Rae murmured in agreement. “It’s a shame he’s single. The right girl could bring out his pretty smile.”

Derek blushed. Fortunately, his phone rang, and Melissa McCall’s name came up on the Caller ID. 

“Everything went according to plan,” she told him when he answered.

“Thank God.” Derek sagged against the bench. “Is Isaac okay?”

“He’s fine,” Melissa said firmly, then filled him in. That morning, she had accompanied Isaac to the Sherriff’s department, where he had formally reported his father’s abuse. He also told the Sherriff and a social worker that his father had left town, telling Isaac he was never coming back. 

Melissa then requested that Isaac be allowed to live with her and had asked to be considered for appointment as his legal guardian. Both the social worker and the Sherriff had promised to put in a good word for her with the court.

Derek sighed in relief again, knowing the matter was as good as settled. In a big city like Los Angeles, Isaac would have been thrown into the system. But here—well, both the Sherriff and the social worker had gone to high school with Melissa. She had already taken in Stiles after the death of his parents, which required a background check, so she was already vetted by the court. Besides, all three boys were friends and teammates, and, as far as the other adults knew, Melissa was the first person Isaac had confided in about the abuse, so clearly he trusted her. Having him join the McCall household made sense for everybody.

Derek let out a long breath and thanked Melissa profusely. 

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Maybe I’m turning into Wendy from ‘Peter Pan,’ but you know what? I like my lost boys. Isaac is a sweetheart and so polite, and who knows? Maybe he’ll be a good example for Scott and Stiles.”

Derek laughed. “I doubt it.”

Melissa sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Speaking of which,” her voice sharpened. “Scott told me you and Stiles were in a car accident last night. Is he okay?’

“He’s fine.” 

“Was he injured? He didn’t hit his head, did he?”

“Not at all,” Derek said. “I could tell if he was hurt,” he added. “I promise if I sense anything wrong, I’ll take him to the hospital.”

“That’s right,” Melissa said. “I forgot about your…abilities.

“I swear he’s okay,” Derek said. “But I’ll have him text you when he gets home from school. I’m going to the mall right now to buy him a new phone.”

“And I’m going to the grocery store to stock up for three teenage appetites.” Fortunately, Melissa sounded happy at the prospect, rather than overwhelmed. 

Derek didn’t mention he had set up an automatic transfer from his bank account to Melissa’s. He figured she’d find out soon enough, when she checked her bank balance and found an extra ten grand in there.

Derek smiled at the thought. Melissa would try to refuse the money, he knew, but he was prepared. He’d just tell her it was for her boys, and she’d crumble.

With the happy sense that everything was finally coming together and all was in order with his pack, Derek headed to the local mall. 

There, he stared in bewilderment at a dizzying array of cell phones. Finally, he handed his credit card to the teenage clerk and told him to pick out the best phone in the store.

Purchase in hand, he walked back to the mechanic’s, picked up the Camaro, and drove home. As he drove past the fallen tree, he saw it had decayed even further. The trunk was slumping in on itself, collapsing from inside, and the leaves were brown and withered.

An uneasy feeling instantly replaced Derek’s upbeat mood. Back home, he prowled through every room in the house, pawing through Peter’s books. His collection was vast, and each room except the cellar, which was too damp, held bookshelves bulging with volumes.

Derek knew Peter’s collection included rare books on werewolf history, lore, and legend. After all, it had been his uncle’s obsession, and the reason for his exile. But he couldn’t find any books on the topic, even after two solid hours of combing through the stacks.

“Dammit.” Thirsty and grouchy, Derek stood with his hands on his hips, staring around the upper hallway. His eyes lit on a handle sticking out from the ceiling.

The handle was attached to a hatch, and the hatch led to…

“Stiles’ room,” Derek murmured. He stepped forward and tugged firmly on the handle. The hatch opened and a set of wooden stairs swung down, leading to the attic room above. 

Derek knew the room had been used as servants’ quarters back when the house was first built. Since joining the pack, Stiles had commandeered it for his own use, and entry was strictly forbidden to everyone except Scott.

Derek hesitated, then reminded himself that he was the freaking Alpha, God-dammit. He climbed the stairs, squinting a little as the late afternoon sunlight hit his face, pouring through the window that looked out onto the back of the house.

He shielded his eyes against the light with his hand, then looked around him and gasped in shock.


	14. Chapter 14

Afterward, Derek sat on the wooden stairs with his head in his hands for a full five minutes, thinking.

Then he went downstairs to his office, where he tried to work and gave up. 

Then he tried to research magic on the Werchives (Werewolf Archives) website and gave up.

Then he paced the floor as the shadows lengthened, glancing at his watch every five minutes and willing Stiles to get home sooner.

He finally forced himself to sit at his desk and go through his mail. He was pleased when he realized the envelopes he’d picked up from the post office contained the official confirmation documents for his pack members, issued by the Council much sooner than he had hoped.

Perhaps the antiquated body had decided to join the twenty-first century after all, Derek mused. Or, more likely, Laura had stopped by their offices like she’d promised and gotten the ball rolling. Derek would like to see the petty bureaucrat who’d be willing to say no to his big sister when she was on a tear.

He smiled at the thought as he leafed through the documents, glancing at each one to make sure everything was in order. When he got to the last page, he frowned.

All the Betas had been given user information and temporary passwords, granting them access to the Hale Clan website as well as their personal bank accounts, the Werchives, and the popular ‘Ws’ internet site (World Wide Werewolf Web), which included online educational offerings. 

Stiles’ document, on the other hand, simply included his registration number, making him an official member of the Clan. Everything else was stamped ACCESS DENIED in bold red ink.

Growling, Derek grabbed his phone and hit speed dial. 

“Derek, can it wait?” Laura asked when she answered, sounding harassed. “I’m just heading into a conference call with Tokyo.”

“It’ll just take a second, I promise. I got the registrations in the mail.”

“Oh, good,” Laura said absently. “I told those idiots to put a rush on them.” 

Derek could picture his older sister at her desk, reviewing her agenda for the conference call yet again. She would have done it yesterday and that morning, as well, and gone over it again with her staff in the afternoon. 

At this point in the evening, Laura would have a sharp pencil in her hand, another one tucked behind her ear, and a third in her hair, poking out of the severe bun she wore to the office, in keeping with her crisp tailored suits. 

Other than the pencils, not a single writing implement or paperclip would be out of order in Laura’s glossy office. The papers on her desk would be arranged at right angles, and her briefcase would be packed for an evening’s work at home.

Derek realized he missed her like hell.

“Derek?” With a start, he realized Laura was speaking, her voice betraying her impatience. “Is everything in order?”

“Almost,” he said quickly. “There’s just one problem. Stiles wasn’t granted access to anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s officially Hale Clan now, but they denied him online access.”

There was a pause. When she spoke, Laura’s voice was puzzled. “And…?”

“And he needs it,” Derek explained. “He needs to log on to the bank, the Ws, and especially the Archives.”

“Derek.” Laura’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Stiles is _human_.”

“Yeah, so?” Derek said impatiently. “He’s pack now.” 

“But he’s still human,” Laura argued. “How can we grant him access to the Werchives?”

“Because he’s pack,” Derek said again, “and more importantly, he’s Clan. Geez, don’t be such a speciesist.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Peter.”

Derek surged to his feet, pacing again. At this rate, he was going to wear a permanent groove in the antique Turkish rug. “Stop saying that!” he growled into the phone. “I am nothing like that sick bastard!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Laura said soothingly. “Just explain it to me. Why does Stiles needs access to the Werchives?”

“He needs to do research. On magical stuff.”

“Can’t you do it?”

Derek snored in derision. “Probably, but I guarantee you the kid is faster. And it’s not like anyone’s gonna know he’s human, when he’s just logging in from his laptop here in Beacon Hills.”

“Derek.” Laura’s voice was gentle now. “Even if Stiles was a werewolf, he couldn’t get all the things you want for him.”

“Why not?” Derek asked 

“Because he’s just an Omega.”

“So?" Derek demanded.

“Derek.” Impatience crept into Laura’s voice again. “I’m going be late for my call, and I’ve worked weeks setting it up.”

Derek rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just—"

Laura cut him off. “We’ll talk about this later, I promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said reluctantly. “But—"

Laura hung up. Derek collapsed back into his desk chair and glared at the ceiling. When his phone rang again, he snatched it up, but it was Deaton, not Laura.

“Stiles left here about ten minutes ago,” he reported. “He should be home soon.”

“Thank you,” Derek said. “Did Stiles show you what we found?”

“Indeed.” Deaton’s voice sharpened with interest. “I think it’s safe to say the object was spelled, but for what purpose is unclear.”

“Was it an attack?”

“Possibly,” Deaton murmured. “But it seems like a very roundabout way of trying to kill you. To poison a tree on your property, then conjure up a wind to knock it over? It’s clumsy.”

“No kidding.” Derek glowered at the ceiling again. “Plus, someone would have to know my whereabouts—"

“And know you would be driving there that exact night, at that exact time,” Deaton concluded. “Have you sensed any intruders on your territory since you’ve arrived? Another pack perhaps?”

“Not at all,” Derek snapped, irritated at the very thought. “We patrol constantly, and Stiles has wards set all throughout the territory. Not to mention,” he added, “this isn’t werewolf behavior. A rival pack would send scouts to assess our strength, then challenge me directly. Assassination is rare in our world, or at least it is these days.”

“True,” Deaton said. “It’s considered cowardly, yes?”

“Absolutely. Although it’s not unheard of.” Derek glanced out the windows, which looked toward the back of the house and the woods beyond. It was starting to get dark, shadows creeping between the trees, and Stiles wasn’t home yet. Derek had a sudden vision of a tree falling on the Jeep, and flinched. “Stiles said he didn’t recognize the signature of the person who cast the spell. Did you?”

“Stiles’ senses in that area are much stronger than mine,” Deaton demurred. “I would trust his judgment. But I told him to check the woods and see if he could find any other objects. If I didn’t know better,” he added, “I might think we were dealing with some good old-fashioned American hoodoo.”

Derek got to his feet and peered out the window, listening for Stiles’ Jeep. “What does that mean?”

“Mischief, primarily,” Deaton told him. “Someone fooling around with spells, rather than a powerful mage.”

Derek felt his shoulders relax a little bit. “So, not a threat, then.”

“Possibly.” As usual, Deaton’s voice gave nothing away. “I’m going to do some research in my books, perhaps contact an expert in my order if need be.”

Derek felt his shoulders tighten again, and his eyelid started to twitch. “You haven’t been very honest with me, have you, Doctor Deaton?”

There was a brief pause. “I beg your pardon?” Deaton asked coolly.

“At our first meeting,” Derek explained. “There was a lot about Stiles you left out.”

“Was there? I thought I covered all the relevant information.”

“Hardly.” Finally, Derek heard the sound of Stiles’ Jeep chugging up the road and felt a surge of relief.

“Let me ask you this, Alpha,” Deaton said, bringing his focus back to the conversation. “Would you have allowed Stiles to remain in the Beacon Hills Pack, had you known some of the…complications he brought with him?”

Derek hesitated. “Probably not,” he admitted finally.

“That’s what I thought,” Deaton said primly. “And yet I believe having him in your pack has worked out well for all concerned.” 

There was some inflection in Deaton’s voice that Derek couldn’t decipher. He was about to challenge him on it when he heard Stiles’ car door slam and caught a whiff of his familiar scent. 

“I have to go,” he said. “Stiles is home.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Deaton said airily, then hung up.

Derek waited in his office as he heard footsteps on the front porch, followed by the front door slamming. The footsteps then pounded up the stairs as Stiles ran to the third floor.

Ordinarily, Stiles would dump his backpack in his room, then thunder back downstairs—it was a wonder the kid didn’t brain himself on a daily basis, Derek thought—and head for the kitchen, where hungry pack members prowled in constant search of food.

Officially, the pack split kitchen duties, but in reality, Stiles did most of the cooking—partly because he enjoyed it, and partly because most of the wolves were terrible at it. (Scott’s signature dish was cut-up hot dogs in canned baked beans.) 

Derek was the worst. Having been waited on claw and paw his entire life, he lacked even the most rudimentary skills. Most days, he was just thankful he knew how to operate the coffee maker. One night he had attempted to make spaghetti and—

Derek heard the footsteps stop abruptly, and he winced a little. He hadn’t tried to hide the fact that he had been in Stiles’ room. He felt it would be dishonest, especially since Stiles wouldn’t be able to smell the presence of an intruder like a wolf could. Instead, Derek had left the hatch open, with the stairs unfolded and the bag containing Stiles’ new phone laying on his bed.

He waited for the inevitable slam of the hatch as Stiles realized his privacy had been violated. 

Instead, there was silence.

Derek took a deep breath, left the safety of his office, and climbed the stairs.

***

In the third floor hallway, Derek stopped. Sure enough, the hatch was still open and the stairs lowered, but the silence emanating from Stiles’ hideout was profound.

Derek was tempted to sniff the air to figure out Stiles’ mood, but again, he didn’t want to take advantage of his superior senses.

Instead, he called gently. “Stiles?”

There was no answer.

“Stiles,” Derek called again. “I’m coming up, okay?”

He waited for a reply of any kind, including the stairs retreating upward, but it never came.

Derek cautiously climbed, trying to keep his movements even and non-threatening, even though his jaw clenched as he entered the room and saw the contents for the second time that day.

The room was smallish, but with high ceilings and windows on three sides. The other half of the attic was used for storage, and was reached via a separate hatch-and-hidden-stair system at the opposite end of the hallway.

The last light of the sun illuminated the room, as did a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a narrow mattress on the floor that served as Stiles’ bed, a charging station for his laptop computer and cell phone, and a tiny, slanting closet, his clothes piled haphazardly in a laundry basket inside.

Derek assumed the rest of Stiles’ belongings were kept at Melissa’s house—although, given the fire that had destroyed the boy’s home, he probably didn’t own much.

As if to emphasize that fact, a single, well-worn photo was thumb-tacked to the wall next to Stiles’ pillow, showing a younger version of him with what were presumably his parents. 

The rest of the room was overflowing with books of all shapes and sizes, most of them quite old judging by their condition, and by their comforting, slightly musty smell of aging paper and ink. There were books stacked in bookcases, piled on top of bookcases—all the way to the ceiling—and spilling out of bookcases. 

There were crates of books on the floor, surrounded by towers of books teetering several feet in the air and crowding around the bed like monoliths. There was a narrow pathway winding among the books from the stairs to the bed, and that was it: Every other inch of floor and wall space was taken up by books. 

The room contained Peter’s entire collection on werewolf history and lore, as well as a sizable section on magic.

Stiles sat cross-legged on his bed at the far end of the room, staring down at the glowing phone in his hand. As Derek approached, he raised his head and stared at the Alpha, his eyes wide. His expression was one of mingled confusion and awe, and his scent radiated bewilderment.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked quickly, alarmed.

Stiles looked down at the phone, then back up at Derek, then held it out.

“That’s for you,” Derek said.

Stiles’ eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. He pointed to himself, eyebrows raised.

“Seriously. It’s for you.” Carefully, Derek sat cross-legged at the foot of the pallet, making sure he didn’t make any sudden moves. “Is something wrong with it?”

Stiles gaped and shook his head, then pointed at the logo on the phone.

“Yeah, it’s an iPhone.” Derek frowned. “Is that bad?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, then typed a message and held it out for Derek to read.

_Dude! Best phone EVER!_

“Oh.” Derek self-consciously scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t know which one to get you, so I had the clerk pick it out. I told him it had to be red, but other than that…” He shrugged.

Stiles tilted his head curiously, then typed.

_Why wd u by me a phone?_

“Yours got broken last night.” Derek shrugged again. “And I didn’t want Mrs. McCall to have to pay for a new one. It’s not a bribe or anything like that,” he added hastily. “It’s just…you needed one.” He scratched his neck again.

Stiles gazed at Derek for a moment, his eyes amber in the glow of the sunset. Then he dropped his head and looked down at the phone in his hands. He peeked up at Derek again through his long eyelashes. A shy smile bloomed on his mouth. Then he typed carefully and held out the phone.

Derek took it in his hands and looked down at the screen.

_THANK YOU_

Derek smiled. “You’re welcome.” 

A comfortable silence stretched between them. Then Stiles started to get to his feet, probably to go start supper.

“Wait,” Derek whispered.

Stiles sank down again, looking at Derek. For once his expression didn’t show anxiety, just expectation and what might be the beginning of trust. 

Derek steeled himself. He hated to break Stiles’ peaceful, happy mood, which was so rare for him. But he needed to address the elephant in the room—or rather, the twisted, psychopathic werewolf in the room, whose shadow still clung to the eaves of the house and curled in the corners of the ceiling, breathing poison. 

It was the thing that had made Derek’s fangs extend instantly, the first time he entered the room that afternoon. It was the thing that tore a growl from his throat, that made his blood boil and his shoulders hunch, the thing that made him want to rip the bookshelves apart with his arms and shred every single book with his claws.

The entire room, including the bed, reeked of Peter.

Derek took a deep breath. “We need to talk,” he said.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that there are no trigger warnings for this chapter, but there will be for the next one. I will mark the chapter appropriately.

Stiles looked alarmed, then gestured to the books around them and typed furiously into his phone.

_Didn’t steal them, just BORROWING!_

“I know that,” Derek said. “I’m not accusing you of anything.”

_NEED THEM 2 keep Scott/pack SAFE!!_

“Stiles, it’s okay.” Derek held out his hands reassuringly. “I’m glad you have the books. That’s not what this is about.”

Stiles cocked his head.

“I just need to ask you some questions about when Scott got bit.”

Stiles’ shoulders sagged, and his expression became shamefaced.

“Can you tell me what happened that night?”

Stiles heaved a sign, then typed. His face flushed as he handed over the phone.

_My fault. Talked Scott into drinking in the woods that night. Peter attacked, I ran, Scott got bit._

“But you tried to help Scott afterward, right?” Derek asked. “You did research and helped him with controlling his shift.”

Stiles shrugged, still looking miserable.

“Did Peter ever offer you the Bite? Or threaten you with it?”

Stiles hesitated, then waggled his hand back and forth.

“Kind of?”

Stiles nodded.

“What does that mean?” Derek handed the phone back to Stiles, who typed a reply.

_He did, but when I said No, he said just as well because Bite usually kills Witchborn._

Derek looked at him sharply. “How did Peter know you were Witchborn?”

Stiles paused, then tilted his head again, thinking.

“Did you tell him?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Were you using magic?”

Stiles shook his head again, this time emphatically. He hesitated, then held up a finger.

“It was just the one time,” Derek interpreted. “The night…the night your parents were killed.”

Stiles drooped again, staring down at his hands, but nodded.

“You didn’t use it after that. You were probably afraid of what would happen,” Derek guessed. “You didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of you.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, lips parted in surprise, then nodded slowly.

“So how did Peter know about your magic?”

Stiles thought some more, then gestured to the books around him and shrugged.

“You’re right, Peter was interested in the topic.” Derek nodded, keeping his expression calm, but he remembered his first conversation with Deaton.

_"Anna used every magical ward she knew to keep them safe," Deaton explained. "And it worked. They lived a very normal life, and Stiles never showed any sign of having inherited his mother’s powers. Anna was relieved,” Deaton added. “She wanted a normal life for her son.”_

_“You knew them?” Derek asked._

_Deaton gave a curt nod, pressing his lips together. “Then Stiles turned thirteen and—”_

_“All hell broke loose?” Derek asked. “It happens in wolf families sometimes,” he explained at Deaton’s sharp look. “Most of us shift from birth, but sometimes it’s delayed. And when it is, the experience is more…traumatic.” He winced, thinking of Peter._

_“Exactly,” Deaton said grimly. “And as you know, every magical being in a hundred-mile radius is aware of that kind of power spike. My office is warded all to hell, against wolves and witches and what-have-yous, but the first time Stiles walked through the door he blew every damn light bulb in the place.”_

Derek remembered something else the mage had said: _Scott and Stiles are a package deal._

“Why do you think Peter wanted Scott in his pack?” he asked Stiles. 

_Brave_ , Stiles typed eagerly. _Strong. Loyal._

Derek nodded. “Scott is all those things. And once Peter found out you could do magic, he was okay with you being part of the pack, too?”

Stiles nodded and sat up straighter. _Said I could help keep Scott/pack safe. Said I should study with Dr. D. (Had offered B4 but I said No way.) P let me read stuff, even ordered more books._ Stiles gestured to the room around him, his eyes glowing with pride.

“That makes sense,” Derek said evenly. He was suddenly thankful Stiles was human, not wolf, because a wolf would have known he was lying through his sharp pointy teeth. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his rage in check.

Peter hadn’t wanted Scott in his pack, Derek thought, although he’d gladly take another foot soldier if he could get one. 

He’d wanted Stiles. 

Hell, he’d probably known about Stiles’ gifts since he was thirteen.

_Every magical being in a hundred-mile radius is aware of that kind of power spike._

Derek remembered his conversation with Lydia his first night in Beacon Hills. 

_Lydia turned to Derek, sighing impatiently. “Think about it. You’re Peter Hale. What do you want more than anything else?”_

_Derek stared at her blankly._

_Lydia rolled her eyes. “Power,” she said. “Right?”_

_“Right,” Derek said. “Power.”_

_“Peter talked about it all the time,” Lydia said. “How pathetic other werewolves were and how he was going to rise up and show them the way. Return the race to their former glory. All he needed was an army.”_

Lydia was right, Derek realized. Peter wanted an army, but not just of werewolves. After all, every pack had wolves. 

But not every pack had a Witch.

Together, they’d be a force to be reckoned with.

Peter may have been insane, Derek thought, but he was also cunning and patient. He’d watched Stiles for years, biding his time and working out a foolproof strategy. 

He’d watched the Betas, too, probably since they were children, figuring out which ones would be most vulnerable in their teen years, then grooming them to crave what Peter had to offer. 

All the kids had different motivations—Isaac’s abuse, Erica’s illness—but they all had one thing in common: They wanted to be stronger, fiercer, to have some measure of control over their troubled lives. In the end, it was no accident that all the Betas except Scott and Lydia had asked Peter for the Bite.

But that approach wouldn’t have worked with Stiles. He’d already refused to learn magic with Deaton. He probably felt responsible for his parents’ death, since the assassin had been drawn to them by Stiles’ growing powers. No doubt Stiles would have refused Peter, as well, not to mention being creeped out all to hell by him. 

So Peter tried an indirect approach. And it worked.

That night in the woods, Peter had deliberately separated the boys, then bitten Scott. Stiles didn’t want to have anything to do with magic, didn’t want to cultivate his own power—until his best friend needed his help to survive. Then he went at it with a vengeance.

Derek shook his head. He’d only known Stiles for a few weeks, but even he knew the boy didn’t do anything half-way.

Plus, Stiles already felt guilty for leading Scott into the woods that night and running when they’d been attacked. In Stiles’ mind, _he_ was the reason Scott got bitten in the first place, so _he_ needed to be the one to protect him from any threats that occurred after he was turned. 

Derek was hardly an expert on human psychology; aside from an intro class he’d taken in college to fulfill a human studies requirement. But he was willing to bet that, after losing his parents—and feeling responsible for their deaths—Stiles was determined not to lose anyone else he cared about.

Peter no doubt preyed on Stiles’ sense of guilt, as well as his loyalty, his protectiveness toward the people he loved, and his sheer stubborn will.

It was pure genius.

It was also unbelievably sick.

Stiles reached forward and tugged on Derek’s’ shirt sleeve, his face anxious. Derek realized he’d been sitting silently for a few minutes, absorbing the reality of what his uncle had done.

“It’s okay,” Derek said quickly. He tried to smile, but it must not have been convincing, because Stiles looked even more upset. He tugged Derek’s shirt again, his eyes pleading for an explanation.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Derek said. “Peter—”

Derek broke off. He didn’t have the heart to tell Stiles how thoroughly he had been manipulated. 

Instead, he rose to his feet and prowled around the narrow space, trying not to stumble over the books. It was full dark outside now, and he and Stiles were cocooned in the glowing cage of the room. The beams creaked overhead as the house settled for the night, and the wind whistled through the cracks in the windows.

“How do you even sleep up here?” Derek demanded. “It’s so creepy.”

Stiles smiled and shrugged. 

“Not so bad, once you get used to it?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, then pulled his legs up, looping his arm around them and resting his chin on his knobby knees. He watched, his eyes dark and unreadable, as Derek paced some more, running his fingers along the spines of the books.

“Found it.” Derek pulled out a narrow volume and blew the dust off. It was a relatively new book, only about forty years old, with the title stamped on the front cover in gold lettering: _Strong By Blood and Birth—A Comprehensive Genealogy of the Hale Clan_.

He rejoined Stiles, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the pallet again.

“Did Peter ever talk about our family?” he asked.

Stiles made a face and typed in his phone.

_Ur all a bunch of self-right. dicks who didn’t appreciate his genius but 1 day he’ll show u all who’s boss wolf_

Derek snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like Peter. It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Stiles leaned forward, his expression eager with curiosity.

“So, you get how the Clans work, right?”

Stiles waggled his hand.

“Kind of. Okay.” Derek thought for a moment, trying to decide how to explain it. “Clans are made up of packs united by blood or treaty. Smaller packs attach themselves to bigger ones for mutual protection, either through treaties or by marriages. So there’s lots of packs in the Hale Clan, but the Hale _family_ is still in charge because we’re the oldest and strongest and, because, frankly we killed everyone else who challenged us.”

Stiles nodded.

Derek opened the book and turned to the last page, showing Stiles the family tree. “Peter was the oldest born son. My father is actually the younger brother. So, technically, Peter should have been in charge of the entire Clan, including the Corporation.”

Stiles eyes widened in alarm.

“Tell me about it,” Derek said glumly. “The guy was a complete nutjub. Anyway, when Peter was born, it was assumed he’d take his rightful place, but it turned out he was a late blooder. That’s like a late bloomer in humans,” he explained. “Most wolves can shift from when they’re born, but sometimes they don’t gain the ability until adolescence.”

Stiles pointed at himself.

“Yes,” Derek said. “Just like you and your magic.”

Stiles widened his eyes dramatically, then pantomimed his head exploding.

Derek laughed. “Yeah, it can really mess you up. Peter spent his whole life thinking he was a complete failure as a werewolf, then one day…BOOM!” Derek made the same exploding gesture Stiles had. “The problem is, the later the shift happens, the harder it is to control it.”

Stiles nodded and made a walking motion with his fingers across the mattress.

“Exactly!” Derek leaned forward, pleased that Stiles understood. “It’s like learning to walk, or speak a language. It’s easier when you start young and it’s a part of your natural development. It’s much harder when you start later.” He looked down at the mattress and scratched the back of his neck.

Stiles nudged him with his foot. _What?_

“This part is kind of embarrassing,” Derek admitted.

Stiles picked up his phone and typed: _Dude no worries I won’t TELL anyone ha ha_.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek said fondly. He huffed out a sigh, then looked at Stiles again. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ve always been really bad at controlling my shift, especially when I get angry.”

Stiles frowned and typed. _Normal right? Whole pack like that esp. Jackson_.

“But this pack is Bitten,” Derek explained. “When you’re Born, like I am, it’s considered really…shameful to not have control. I had to go to a special class after school and everything.”

Stiles beamed and pounded on his chest, then typed.

_DUDE me too! Kindergarten teacher said was autistic. After couple yrs figured ADHD to the max Special class rocks! That’s where met Scott. He ate paste._

“I wish you had been in my class,” Derek said. “It would have been a lot less lame.”

Stiles’ face lit up with a smile. Derek found himself smiling back, despite his roiling emotions. Then Stiles gestured for him to continue the story.

“Anyway,” Derek said, “there was Peter, finally a werewolf but completely out of control. Special class didn’t work for him,” Derek added with a grimace. “He ripped one of the other kid’s arms off. He attacked some of the servants in his parent’s house, too…” Derek winced. “Nothing the family couldn’t hush up, of course,” he added bitterly. “But still, it just got worse as he got older. Peter also spent years studying werewolf history and lore until it became an obsession.”

Stiles tapped the side of his head, then twirled his finger.

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “He was a genius, in his own twisted way.” He shook his head. “Peter started spouting all these theories, saying werewolves had gotten too soft since the Truce, had become too assimilated into human culture. He said we needed to get back to the wild and return to the old ways: We needed to settle Clan disputes with blood rather than treaties, we needed to strengthen our packs by biting and mating with humans, Alphas should start claiming their privilege again—”

Derek broke off. “Well, you’ve heard his theories. Let’s just say they made him pretty unpopular. Most wolves are comfortable with the way things are now, although some of the younger crowd were attracted to Peter’s ideas. He wrote a couple of books, had a blog, things like that. Anyway, the Council put pressure on my grandparents to remove Peter from the line of succession and replace him with his younger brother Grayson.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows and pointed at Derek. 

“Yeah, my dad, and the most controlled guy you ever met,” Derek said sourly. “Try growing up wild with that as a role model. Anyway, the Council was worried that if Peter got control of the Clan, his behavior would start to draw the attention of humans, and that would threaten the survival of the entire species. They weren’t wrong,” Derek noted. “For a century, the key to our survival has been blending in, hiding in plain sight. Peter threatened all of that. So my grandparents agreed to the change of successor.”

 _OMG what happened?_ Stiles typed. _I bet Peter lost his effing SHIT!_

“That’s putting it mildly. Peter wanted to fight my dad for the title, in an old-fashioned duel to the death.”

_Let the best wolf win? Winner take all? Lyco a lyco?_

“Precisely,” Derek said. “But my grandparents had anticipated that. You get that wolves aren’t allowed to bite humans anymore, right?” Derek asked anxiously. “What Peter did to Scott was a capital offense.”

Stiles nodded.

“These days, the only way to gain a pack as a sub-Alpha is to be assigned one, like I was, or inherit one. So my grandfather Nathaniel, who was the chief Alpha of the Clan, assigned a bunch of his Betas and Omegas to my father, who claimed them just like I did with Scott and the rest of the pack here.”

Stiles unconsciously touched the bite mark on his neck, his fingers lingering on the permanent scar.

“Meanwhile,” Derek continued, “he didn’t give any to Peter.”

This time, Stiles added a bug-eyed emoticon to his text.

 _YIKES!_

“Yep.” Derek nodded grimly. “Peter showed up at the appointed time for the duel, and there was my dad with a hundred Betas behind him, ready to rip Peter to tiny shreds if he as much as breathed on his brother. They forced him to stand down. Peter always was a coward,” he added. “You get that, don’t you?”

Stiles hesitated, then nodded.

“So Peter renounced his claim to the succession,” Derek said, leaning back as he finished the tale. “There were witnesses, obviously, so he couldn’t lie or try to take it back later. They even removed his name from the book.”

Derek held the page open again for Stiles to see. “This is an older edition, which is why Peter’s name still appears.” He pointed to Peter’s name in the family tree, printed under _Nathaniel and Martha Hale_ but above _Grayson and Kara Hale_. “Any version published in the last twenty years would show my father as an only child.”

 _Peter was erased_ , Stiles typed, his face somber.

“Yes.” Derek took a deep breath. “And sent into exile here.”

Stiles’ eyes bulged, and he flailed his arms, looking every bit like Little Wally Wolf-Ears from Derek’s favorite childhood TV show, _Carnivore Street_.

“I know,” Derek said.

Stiles shook his head, typed frantically, and held up his phone.

_On behalf of B Hills FUCK YOU VERY MUCH!_

“I know,” Derek said again. “The Hale family originated in this territory centuries ago, then moved south after the Truce, but they still owned the house and the land. They gave them to Peter, but he couldn’t leave the territory under pain of death. I guess they thought that was enough.” 

Stiles snorted.

“Instead,” Derek translated, “he’s been lurking out here for twenty years, getting loonier by the minute, and doing some truly horrific things?”

Stiles nodded.

“Yeah.” Derek paused, then ploughed ahead. “The reason why my family sent me here was to clean up Peter’s mess.”

Stiles snorted again, then typed.

_Lucky you_

Derek laughed, scratching his neck. “Well, someone had to. And honestly, I’m glad.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“I hated LA,” Derek confessed. “I hated being a lawyer in my family’s firm. I never wanted to go to law school in the first place. Wow,” he added with an anxious chuckle. “I’ve never actually said that out loud before.”

Sties gave him a cheerful thumbs-up.

“I remember being here years ago,” Derek said softly. “Looking back, it was probably right before Peter was exiled. I was maybe two at the time, so I had no idea that anything was wrong. Laura probably did, but then she was always smarter than me. My older sister,” he explained at Stiles’ questioning look. 

Derek closed his eyes. “I just remember being able to explore the house and run in the woods all day long. My father’s Omegas were there, keeping an eye on me, but that wasn’t unusual. I loved the woods, I loved the freedom, I loved being able to be in wolf form as much as I wanted…”

Derek opened his eyes and saw that Stiles was watching him thoughtfully. He blushed and cleared his throat. “I guess my family also figured that, if anyone could relate to a bunch of out-of-control teenage werewolves, it would be me.”

Stiles frowned, then tapped at his keyboard. 

_Don’t sell urself short. Ur a great Alpha._

“Compared to Peter?” Derek grimaced. “Anyone would be.”

Stiles shook his head firmly. Then, to Derek’s surprise, he took Derek’s hand. Tilting his head back, he pressed it to his scar, holding Derek’s hand in place with his own.

Derek caught his breath. He recognized the gesture. It’s one he practiced with his Betas, only in wolf form and usually after a long training session or a wild run in the woods.

The Betas would submit, flopping on their backs and baring their necks, tails wagging. Derek would press his nose to each Beta’s claiming scar, snuffling affectionately into their fur as he breathed in each wolf’s unique scent. Then he would gently lick the scar with his tongue, reveling in the sense of bonding and affection that flowed between them. The Betas would often do the same to each other, wrestling to see who got to play Alpha.

Now, Derek got the same sense of calm belonging and connection, of _pack_. He shifted his hand slightly until he was cupping Stiles’ chin in his hand, his thumb caressing his jaw.

“Stiles.” Derek spoke softly. “Do you trust me?”

Stiles hesitated, but his eyes never left Derek’s. Finally, he nodded.

“Okay,” Derek said, keeping his tone even. “Then I need to ask you a question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to get real, folks...trigger warnings apply to the next chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY! (See notes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a discussion of previous non-con. TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY.

A sudden gust of wind shook the attic and rattled the windows, making them both jump. Stiles dropped Derek’s hand and mimed a heart attack.

Derek smiled, then edged closer, until their knees were almost touching. Stiles looked a little anxious, but didn’t retreat.

“Stiles,” Derek asked, “did Peter ever hurt you?”

Stiles’ eyes flickered, then went blank. He shook his head.

“Stiles,” Derek said. “Don’t lie to me.”

Stiles shook his head again, stubbornly, then took Derek’s hand again and pressed it to his chest. His heartbeat was normal.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. _See?_

“Perhaps I need to define my terms more clearly,” Derek said sternly. “Did Peter ever abuse you in any way? And by that I mean _any_ way,” he added. “Physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually--”

Stiles’ heartbeat surged.

“Okay,” Derek said softly.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he realized his body’s betrayal. Then his shoulders drooped in defeat. He dropped Derek’s hand and stared down at his lap, twisting his fingers together, then picked up his phone and typed.

_Over now._

“Maybe,” Derek said evenly. “But I still think we should talk about it.”

Somehow Stiles managed to contain a world of sarcasm in his reply. _So you’re my shrink now?_

“No,” Derek said, keeping his tone calm. “I’m your Alpha. That means if something’s wrong, it’s my job to fix it. Especially since I was sent here to clean up Peter’s mess.”

_Great, now I’m just that psycho’s mess._

“Stiles.” Derek reached forward and gently tipped up Stiles’ chin, forcing the boy to look at him. “I know you’re still a virgin. I smelled it on you the moment we met.” 

Stiles managed to roll his eyes and blush crimson at the same time. His fingers stabbed at his phone.

_SO?_

“I’m not saying this to embarrass you,” Derek said. “It’s just…I’m aware of what Peter did, or tried to do with Isaac.” 

Stiles shook his head and waved his hand, then pointed at himself and shook his head again.

“I know, I get it,” Derek said quickly. “He didn’t do the same thing to you. Like I said, I can smell it. But…”

He gave up, gesturing angrily to the dark, narrow room around them. “Every inch of this place still stinks of Peter.”

Stiles blushed again and dropped his eyes.

“Exactly,” Derek said grimly. “He may not have done _that_ , but I know for damn sure he did _something_. Look at me, Stiles. I said look at me,” he added when Stiles didn’t look up.

Stiles raised his head and reluctantly met Derek’s eyes.

“Do you know what that means?” Derek asked.

Stiles licked his lips nervously, then shook his head. 

“It means that sick son of a bitch hurt _my_ pack,” Derek hissed. He poked himself in the chest. “Mine. And I can’t decide what I want to do first—dig up his bones and burn them again, or grab you, throw you in the car, and not stop driving until we’re a million miles away from here and I know for damn sure you’re safe.”

Stiles stared at him in shock. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, running a tense hand over his jaw. “I just hate it when something’s wrong and I can’t fix it.”

 _Not your job to fix it_ , Stiles typed timidly.

“Yes, it is,” Derek said with equal stubbornness.

There was a long silence. The wind rattled the windows again, followed by a smattering of rain against the glass. Then Stiles opened his backpack, drew out a battered notebook and a pen, and stood, gesturing for Derek to follow him. 

“Where are we going?”

Stiles pushed the notebook and pen into Derek’s hands, then gestured again and headed down the stairs. Derek followed, mystified. 

Stiles walked down to the first floor, turning on the lights in the darkened house with a snap of his fingers as he passed. In the kitchen, he turned on the stove and set a heavy cast-iron pot on the burner. He rummaged in the pantry for a few minutes, emerging with a handful of root vegetables, which he set on the small table he used for prep.

He pulled out a potato peeler and brandished it at Derek, then pointed to the little table.

“Eat first, then talk?” Derek guessed.

Stiles nodded.

Derek sighed. “Okay,” he said.

***

Derek obediently peeled the onion, wincing at the sharp smell, then washed and peeled the potatoes and carrots, trying not to butcher them too much—the potato peeler was ridiculously flimsy in his large hands. Still, it was pleasant working in warm, lighted kitchen, the rain falling in earnest now outside. 

Meanwhile, mouth-watering smells filled the air as Stiles pulled a pack of chicken from the fridge and browned it in the pot, then scraped up the browned bits with a spoon before adding garlic and onion, which he had chopped deftly. (Given his general clumsiness, Stiles was remarkably skilled with a kitchen knife.) He threw in a little flour and cream and stirred, then poured broth in the pot and added the vegetables.

With a satisfied nod, he lowered the heat and placed the lid on the pot, then wiped his hands on a dishtowel. He grabbed a Red Wolf from the fridge, as well as a beer for Derek, then sat at the little table, folding his hands on top of his notebook. Derek sat across from him.

“Ready?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, then flipped open the notebook. He pulled the pen cap off with his teeth, gnawing on it while he wrote, then turned the page so Derek could read it.

_Show me on the doll where the Bad Alpha touched you, Stiles?_

Derek glared at him, and Stiles grinned around the pen cap.

“Okay, smartass, where did he touch you?”

Stiles made a face and spit out the pen cap, then wrote.

 _Peter liked to watch_.

Derek frowned. “Watch?”

Stiles made a jerking-off motion with his hand.

“Oh, Christ.” Derek put his head in his hands.

Stiles poked him with his pen, and Derek peered at him through his fingers while he wrote some more. 

_He never tried to fuck me because he said I was human and he’d break me._

“Okay,” Derek said faintly. “That’s one small mercy.”

Stiles sneered and scribbled on the notebook.

_Plus, after Isaac, everyone knew Peter couldn’t get it up._

Derek gave a humorless chuckle. “No secrets in a wolf pack, huh?”

Stiles shook his head, grinning.

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, fighting for control. He could feel his hackles bristling. Inside, his wolf was howling and scratching to be let out. With effort, he focused on the conversation.

“Peter must have hated that,” he mused.

_Big Bad Alpha with tiny limp dick? YOU BETCHA!_

A sickening suspicion was growing in Derek’s mind. “Did Peter ever touch you?”

Stiles hesitated. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, and the lights flickered overhead.

Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles, who held out his hands in a gesture of innocence, then wrote.

_Not me, dude. Storm’s coming._

“What does the magic feel like?” Derek found himself asking.

Stiles cocked his head, thinking, then wiggled his fingers.

“Buzzy?” Derek guessed. “Tingly?”

Stiles nodded.

“Is it like ADHD?”

Stiles thought again.

_Kind of? But deeper? Hard to explain._

Derek remembered his conversation with Melissa. “Mrs. McCall said you’re supposed to take something for that, but she wasn’t sure if you were actually doing it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation.

_Dude, what kind of idiot would I be if I didn’t take my meds? They HELP._

“Okay,” Derek raised his hands, placating. “I was just checking.”

But Stiles wasn’t done.

_My brain isn’t BROKEN, it just functions differently. Dr. D says diffuse awareness actually helps with magic. That’s why I can sense more than he can. And meds help with focus, which helps control magic._

“You can control it?”

Stiles grimaced, then made his _kind of_ gesture. 

“Sometimes?” Derek asked.

 _Getting better_ , Stiles wrote. _D says practice helps, like with anything else. Dude, I’m starving!_

Stiles started to get up and move to the stove.

“Not yet,” Derek said. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Stiles tilted his head.

“Did Peter ever touch you?”

Stiles slumped in his chair, kicking his feet in irritation.

“Stiles,” Derek said, half-stern, half-gentle. He’d found it was the tone that worked best with him. “Answer my question.”

Stiles made a face, then wrote _BRB_.

When Derek looked at him in confusion, Stiles rolled his eyes and wrote in columns under the letters.

_B_  
 _E_

_R_  
 _I_  
 _G_  
 _H_  
 _T_

_B_  
 _A_  
 _C_  
 _K_

“Oh,” Derek said. “Okay.”

Stiles rose and left the room, then Derek could hear his feet pounding up the stairs. Derek forced himself to stay seated and wait, when what he really wanted to do was pace the floor. And maybe rip out a few walls.

After a moment, he felt pressure on his fingertips. Looking down, he realized his claws were fully extended and gouging deep grooves in the Formica tabletop.

“Shit.” Derek retracted his claws, flexing his fingers with the effort, and tried to ground, but the electricity in the air from the impending storm made it difficult. 

He was relieved when he heard Stiles’ footsteps again. He entered the kitchen carrying a cardboard box, carefully cradled in his arms. Derek recognized it as the kind used in the Werchives to house rare books and manuscripts. Stiles gently set the box on the table, then unfolded the sides.

The smell hit Derek first: The comforting scent of old paper, but with a slight spicy tang, like cinnamon and allspice and resin. It smelled ancient, and good.

The book was hefty, like a dictionary, with a leather cover worn smooth and supple with age. Stiles gingerly opened it, then turned the crumbling pages to the first chapter.

 _Incipit liber de naturis bestiarum_ , it read, _de leonibus et pardis et tigribus, lupis et vulpibus, canibus et simiis_.

“It’s a bestiary,” Derek whispered. 

Stiles nodded, looking at the book with genuine love.

“How old is it?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. He turned the book toward himself and carefully paged through it until he reached the entries listed under the letter ‘L,’ then turned it again so Derek could see the page. It showed a woodcut illustration of a wolf pack running through a forest under the full moon. 

In the next frame, the lead wolf had stopped and was looking back over its shoulder at a flock of sheep in the foreground. A shepherd, dressed in a rough tunic and cloak, foolishly drowsed while leaning on his crook.

In the final frame, the wolf was disappearing over the horizon, bushy tail waving. The shepherd, who had awakened to find his sheep gone, stood with hands raised in horror but his mouth pinched shut.

Stiles pointed to the Latin verse inscribed below the illustrations. Derek looked at him in confusion. Stiles set the book down and scribbled in his notebook.

_"If a wolf sees a man before the man sees the wolf, the man will lose his voice."_

Stiles grinned at Derek, then turned a few pages in the book to section under the letter ‘K.’ He tapped the page with his forefinger, then rose and went to the stove.

Derek peered closer and saw an illustration of a lizard-like creature, but one that walked on two legs. The illustration was entitled _Kanimus horribilus_.

As Derek examined the book, Stiles threw some frozen peas in the stew and stirred them in. He replaced the lid on the pot and checked the burner, then washed his hands and joined Derek at the little table again. Derek closed the book and handed it back to Stiles, who tenderly replaced it in the box.

“It’s beautiful,” Derek said. “And it must be priceless. Where did Peter get it?”

 _Online auction_ , Stiles wrote, then added. _Illegal?_

“Probably,” Derek said. He took a sip of beer to ease his dry throat. “But it helped you keep the pack safe?”

Stiles beamed proudly, then wrote: _Lydia, too. She rocks the Latin! That’s how we figured Gerard was the one controlling the kanima._

“Good work,” Derek said casually. “Did Peter make you pay for it?”

Stiles’ smile faltered, and he looked down at the table. After a moment, he wrote two words in the notebook and underlined them.

_ Worth it. _

“That’s not what I asked,” Derek said.

Stiles leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, scowling sullenly at the floor. Derek leaned forward, choosing his words with care.

“You said Peter let you read the books in his collection and even ordered more when you needed them. But he wanted something in return. He wanted to watch you.”

Stiles grabbed his notebook and scribbled furiously, underlining words with such force his pen tore through the page.

_Didn’t make me, I let him._

“Because you needed the books to keep the pack safe. But for this book,” Derek nodded toward the box, “he wanted something special. He wanted to touch you.”

Stiles hesitated, his eyes still downcast. Then he nodded.

The beer bottle shattered in Derek’s grip. 

Startled, Stiles leapt backwards, knocking his chair over 

Derek opened his hand and stared at the shards of glass embedded in his palm. Dark red blood welled up and oozed on the table, where it mingled with the spilled beer, soaking Stiles’ notebook and making the ink run on the page.

Stiles grabbed the bestiary and pulled it out of reach of the spill, clutching the box protectively to his chest. He left the room for a moment and returned without it, then grabbed a dishtowel. 

He was about to mop up the spill when he noticed the shards in Derek’s hand and made a small sound of distress. He cradled Derek’s wrist in one hand, using the towel to catch the blood. With his other hand, he plucked the shards of glass out of Derek’s skin, working quickly but carefully.

It hurt, but the pain barely registered with Derek. He stared numbly at his hand, watching each cut close, the skin knitting together, as the glass was removed. Stiles bent over his work, his head close to Derek’s. This close, his scent, tinged with concern, was overwhelming. Derek felt his pulse quicken and his hearing buzz. 

He stood abruptly. “That’s enough.”

Startled again, Stiles stared at him, then gestured to Derek’s hand.

“It’s fine,” Derek said. “Already healed.” He shoved past Stiles, who stumbled out of his way. Typically, his legs tangled with his chair, still on the floor, and he started to fall backward.

Derek’s hand shot out and caught Stiles’ wrist, pulling him forward. He used a little too much force, and Stiles’ momentum propelled him right into Derek’s chest.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Thunder rumbled outdoors, and the rain came down harder, pelting the roof and windows of the old house.

Stiles’ eyes were huge and dark, his cupid’s-bow lips parted in surprise. Derek could feel his heart thudding in his chest, keeping time with his own. He caught a glimpse of his mark on Stiles’ shoulder and felt his fangs start to elongate.

 _No wonder Peter wanted a little taste_.

Derek cursed and shoved Stiles back. Stiles collided with the table, striking his hip, then doubled over, hissing in pain.

“I’m going for a run,” Derek snarled. “Don’t wait up.” 

He turned and left the kitchen, not looking back to see Stiles’ reaction. As he passed through the living room, he glimpsed the box with the bestiary in it sitting on the large wooden table. The book’s scent seemed rancid now, almost mocking.

By the time he reached the hall, Derek was already shifting. With a roar of rage, he burst through the front door, leapt off the porch in full wolf form, and ran off into the rainy darkness


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS continue for the first part of this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS continue for the first part of this chapter. After that, we're out of the woods and on to the rest of the story. Thanks for hanging in there, peeps!

Derek ran for hours, in both wolf and human form. He ran until his body was exhausted and he was gasping for air. But his mind was no clearer than it had been before.

With a growl, Derek gave up and went home. A light was still on in the living room, and Derek could see Stiles at the big table, doing his homework. 

Derek knew he should go inside, but out of sheer cowardice, he didn’t. Instead, he stood and watched, letting the rain cool his body down.

Stiles seemed even more restless than usual, his fingers drumming ceaselessly against the table as he tried to read. Eventually, he gave up, rose, and shoved his books and supplies into his backpack. 

He lingered for a moment, and Derek realized Stiles was holding the notebook he had used earlier for their conversation. 

As Derek watched, Stiles opened the notebook and ripped out a few pages, presumably the ones he had written on before.

He furiously crumpled them into a ball with his fist, then opened his hand. 

With a flash, the paper burst into flames and was consumed. Seconds later, the fire winked out, and Stiles absently rubbed the ash off his hand onto his T-shirt, leaving a black smear over his heart.

Then he turned and went upstairs. Derek tracked his progress through the house. First the light in the third-floor bathroom winked on, then off again after a few minutes. Likewise, the light in Stiles’ attic room came on a few seconds later, then eventually went off.

Derek waited a few extra minutes, then crept into the house and headed for the kitchen. He was starving after his run. Fortunately, Stiles had left the stew on the stove. 

Trying not to make any noise, Derek lifted off the lid and saw Stiles had made dumplings. They were a little soggy after sitting for hours, but still plump and delicious. Derek devoured two bowls standing over the stove, then put the leftovers in the fridge and washed the pot.

Then he turned off the light in the kitchen, took a deep breath, and crept upstairs. He checked the third floor, but the hatch to Stiles’ room was firmly closed. Derek resisted the urge to listen in on the boy’s heartbeat. Instead, he went to his room, took a long shower, and climbed into bed.

The rain was slacking off, only a few grumbles of thunder in the distance, and the cool breeze from the open window felt good on Derek’s overheated body.

He was just drifting off when his phone chirped on his bedside table. Thinking it was Laura, Derek grabbed it instantly and saw he had a text from Stiles.

_Feel better?_

Derek thought for a moment, then typed _Yes_ even though it was a lie.

 _Go to sleep_ , he added.

There was silence, then his phone chirped again.

_If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell Scott?_

Derek didn’t hesitate.

_Yes, I promise._

_Peter said he’d bite Mrs. McC._

Derek swore. His fingers were clumsy as he typed. 

_Scott would have killed him._

He waited impatiently until the reply came.

_Maybe. More likely, P would have killed Scott. Older, stronger, crazier._

_Good point_ , Derek replied.

_Either way, I couldn’t take that chance._

Derek closed his eyes, praying for calm.

_Derek???_

_I’m here._ It was the only thing Derek could think of to say that didn’t involve incoherent cursing and rage.

_I didn’t want you to think I’m the sort of person who would do something like that just for a book._

Again, words failed, but Derek typed as quickly as he could, despite his shaking hands. 

_I don’t think that. I mean, I get it._

_So we’re good?_

_Of course we’re good, Stiles. Now get some sleep. We’ll talk more later, ok?_

_Ok._

Derek lay in the darkness, sleep a million miles away now. He wasn’t surprised when his phone beeped again.

_Derek?_

_I’m here._

_No matter what, I never let him kiss me. Not even once._

As the tiny screen on his phone grew bleary, Derek realized he was crying. His hands shook too hard to type a reply.

_DEREK?_

Derek wiped his eyes and typed: _Here. We’re good, always. Now go to bed. It’s a school night_ , he added.

Stiles’ reply came almost instantly.

_Not sleepy._

_Count sheep._

Derek hit send, imagining Stiles’ annoyed face, then smiled at his reply. 

_FINE. Just keep your wolf away from my sheep._

_Good night, Stiles._

_Don’t let the bed wolves bite._

_GOOD NIGHT, STILES._

Finally, the phone was silent. After a few minutes, Derek extended his senses. He could tell by Stiles’ slow, steady breathing that he was asleep.

Derek gave in then. He rolled over, biting his pillow to stifle his sobs, and cried until he was spent. Even then, it was a long time before sleep came.

***

Derek overslept the next morning, and Stiles was gone by the time he staggered downstairs. Again, Derek was relieved, although he told himself sternly that sooner or later he was going to have to face him and fix things. 

The problem was, he had no idea what to say, or how to fix it, or even where to start. Worst of all, there was no one he could talk to about the situation, not without violating Stiles’ privacy. He toyed with the idea of calling Deaton—there was a chance he might already know—but quickly rejected it. This was a pack problem, and it was Derek’s job as pack leader to solve it.

Unfortunately, Peter was already dead, so there was nothing Derek could do about the rage still coursing through him in waves. All he could do, he told himself, was prove himself worthy of Stiles’ trust and thereby worthy of leading the Beacon Hills pack. And the next time Derek saw Stiles, he would tell him just that.

Derek had the speech all prepared, practicing it in his head while he worked out on the heavy bag he found in the garage. But he never got a chance to deliver it, because he’d forgotten Pack Night was on Friday this week instead of Saturday.

The lacrosse team had a game on Saturday night against their arch-rival, the River Falls Wildcats, so by the time they showed up at the house Friday evening after practice, they were fired up and bouncing off the walls. The impending full moon didn’t help matters. 

Derek was relieved, however, that Stiles seemed completely normal, aside from being hyped to the gills on caffeine and testosterone. He neither avoided Derek nor sought him out, so Derek allowed himself to relax a little.

Derek recognized it would be hopeless to try to get the pack to focus on training, so he let them fall on supper with their usual ferocity. After dark, when they were sprawled around the living room, he handed out their registration packets.

Within seconds, laptops were firing up all across the room as Derek coached the Betas through the log-in process.

“The log-in takes you straight to the Ws,” he explained, “and from there you can go anywhere you want.”

“What are the Ws?” Boyd frowned as he input his ID number, typing carefully with his two large forefingers.

“Sorry,” Derek said. “It’s the World Wide Werewolf Web, but everyone just calls it the Ws. There it is,” he added, looking over Boyd’s shoulder, “and there’s your account information.”

Boyd clicked on the icon. “Holy shit,” he said after a few seconds. “There’s money in here.”

“What?” Isaac craned his neck from where he was lying on the floor. “Where?”

“There’s a _lot_ of money in here,” Boyd added.

Fingers flew, and the room was filled with the sound of keys clacking. Then Scott whistled and Erica squealed. Even Lydia looked impressed.

“You’re members of the Hale Clan now,” Derek explained. “That means you all own stock in the Hale Corporation. The money is in trust,” he added sternly. “You can’t access it until you’re 21.”

“What?”

“No fair!”

“That’s bullshit,” Scott groused.

“It’s meant to be used for your education, or to start a family or a business,” Derek explained. “Until then, it just earns interest.”

“Phooey,” Erica muttered. “I was thinking shopping spree.”

“And that’s why it’s in trust,” Derek explained, ruffling her hair. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he grinned back at her.

“So what else is on here?” Isaac peered closer at the website.

“Everything,” Derek said. “There are plenty of free online educational courses that you can take advantage of. Werewolf history, lore, law—”

“Hey, sports!” Scott, sitting at the table, happily clicked on a link.

“What? Where?” Jackson, slumped at the far end of the table, perked up. 

“Holy crap,” Scott said, scrolling through the pages. “Werewolves have their own sports leagues?”

“Yes, but—”

“Dude, do they have lacrosse?” Jackson was on the page now, as was Isaac.

“How is this possible?” Lydia looked up from her laptop, a frown marring her perfect brows. “What happens if a human stumbles across this website?”

Derek scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out how to explain. “It’s like Red Wolf,” he said finally.

The pack stared at him blankly.

“Huh?” Scott said.

Derek sighed. “Red Wolf is sold everywhere, right? If you’re a wolf, it’s supposedly got all this stuff in it that’s good for us. If you’re a human, it’s just an energy drink full of chemicals and you’re lucky it doesn’t kill you.”

Stiles, slurping his fourth can of the day, choked, then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

Jackson shook his head. “Still not getting it.”

“Both things are true at the same time,” Derek said, “but most people only see what they’re expecting to see. The wolf world is right on top of the human world.” Derek held one palm up and pressed the other against it. “They co-exist, but most humans aren’t aware of it. There’s also a kind of magic, almost like a camouflage. Stiles’ people would call it a glamour.”

Stiles looked up from dabbing at the spilled soda on his T-shirt, his eyes sharp with curiosity.

“We don’t really know how it works,” Derek finished. “It’s just there. And ever since the Truce, it’s gotten stronger.”

“What’s the Truce?” Isaac asked.

“It’s part of that werewolf history I suggest you learn,” Derek said, trying to sound professorial. 

“Or we could check the baseball scores,” Scott suggested.

“I’m going to invest my money,” Boyd said, tapping on the WereMarket icon.

“Oooh, gossip!” Erica’s eyes lit up as she clicked a link.

Derek sighed and rubbed his eyes. He felt someone nudge his shoulder and turned.

Stiles held up his registration form with the “Access Denied” stamp. He made an exaggerated sad face and tracked an invisible tear down his cheek with his forefinger.

“Don’t worry,” Derek said grimly. “I’m all over that.” He had spent the better of the day on the phone with the Council and the Werchives, venting his rage against petty bureaucrats. “I just need to cut through some red tape.”

Stiles looked disappointed, but nodded.

“Don’t worry, dude,” Scott said. “You can borrow my number.” He shoved the chair next to him out and slid his laptop over so it was between them. Stiles dropped in the chair, resting his chin on his folded arms, and watched, occasionally pointing out an icon for Scott to click.

Derek settled in the big armchair by the fireplace, and there was comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Erica giggled. Lydia, curled up next to her on the couch, glanced at her laptop.

“No way!”

Thirty seconds later, she was giggling along with Erica, their heads together over the computer.

“Okay,” Derek said wearily. “Just get it over with.”

Erica cleared her throat and read aloud. “'Are Kerek splitsville? After a summer being spotted at LA’s hottest watering holes, power couple Derek Hale and Kate Monroe have been noticeably absent from the fall social scene.'” Erica fluttered her eyelashes at Derek. “Who’s Kate Monroe?”

Derek rubbed his neck again. “My girlfriend.”

Scott looked up. “Wait, you have a girlfriend?”

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Derek grumbled.

“Wait, you have a couple nickname?” Erica glanced at her computer and winced. “And it’s Kerek?”

Jackson snorted. “Lame.”

“Shut up,” Derek said, but without any real heat. 

Erica read from the computer screen again. “‘Those in the know say the gorgeous blonde was disappointed when Derek, only son of multi-million-dollar mogul Grayson Hale, didn’t propose during a romantic beachside stroll in Santa Monica.’”

Lydia took up the tale, reading in a breathless voice “‘Kate’s heartbroken,’ a close friend confided in _Wolf Gazette_ social reporter Minxy Brown. ‘She’s fully committed to Derek and thought he felt the same way.’ Is LA’s most eligible bachelor just another wolf in sheep’s clothing? Our advice to Derek: Put a collar on it!’”

Derek growled under his breath, then belatedly realized he was shredding the upholstery fabric with his claws, and retracted them.

“Oooh, here’s another one,” Erica said cheerfully,

“Read it! Read it!” Scott put in.

Derek scowled at him as Erica read: “‘Blind item: Has this Alpha’s notorious temper finally cost him his lady love? Rumor has it a certain longtime pairing ended because he couldn’t handle her successful modeling career, and she refused to give it up. Is this relationship still hale and hearty? Who really wears the collar in this couple? Enquiring minds want to know!'”

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “What is this collar stuff?” she asked, turning to Derek. “Do werewolves do that?”

Derek rubbed his eyes. “It’s like an engagement ring,” he said defensively. “You give one to your mate when you propose.”

“But is it an actual collar?” Lydia persisted.

Derek sighed. “Centuries ago it was, yeah. These days it’s more like a fancy necklace.”

“Like this?” Erica turned her laptop toward Derek. 

“Yeah, that’s—oh, crap.”

Erica giggled unrepentantly. “She’s very pretty.”

“Is that her?” Lydia asked. Erica turned the laptop back, and Lydia’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

There was a general stampede as the boys crowded around the computer, except for Stiles. He stayed at the table, his eyes fixed on Scott’s laptop, his fingers dancing over the keys. The others made various noises of appreciation as they ogled the black-and-white images.

“The first one who wolf whistles, bleeds,” Derek informed them.

Jackson’s whistle died in his throat, and he slunk back to the table. “She’s hot,” he commented, once he was a safe distance from Derek—and Lydia. 

“When they said she was a model,” Scott said, “I didn’t think they meant a _topless_ —”

“Shut it,” Derek snarled. “They’re _tasteful_ ,” he added forlornly, repeating what Kate had told him when he’d threatened to rip the photographer’s lungs out.

Boyd gave Derek a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and went back to his financial planning. Isaac peered a little longer at the screen.

“The images are really well done,” he said. “Arty but not clichéd. I’m kind of interested in photography,” he told Derek, blushing a little.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Derek spat, and Isaac wisely shut his mouth.

Erica and Lydia got comfortable on the couch, paging through the slide show. The spread was for a fashion magazine called _Lupine_ , and unfortunately for Derek, the images were permanently etched on his brain. 

Kate was naked, but coyly positioned so nothing was revealed. She was posed on an antique fainting couch draped with white satin, wearing high-heeled shoes and a series of priceless designer collars. 

In one image, she reclined on the couch, the satin fabric barely covering her breasts, while she held a silver, diamond-studded collar between her strong white teeth. She looked stunning, not to mention mischievous. The short article accompanying the photos was similarly tantalizing.

Lydia read the captions out loud.

“'Never one to shy away from trouble, socialite Kate Monroe shows off this season’s most dangerous glamour. ‘I’m not afraid to live on the edge,’ she told _Lupine_. ‘Of course, I’d give it all up for the right Alpha.’” Lydia made a gagging noise in her throat.

Erica looked up at Derek. “What does she mean, she’s not afraid?”

“There’s an old wolves’ tale,” Derek explained. “You shouldn’t wear a collar unless your mate places it around your neck. If you put one on that doesn’t belong to you, it kills you.”

Lydia tilted her head. “Seriously?”

Derek scratched his neck. “It’s just superstition,” he said defensively, “but most people still won’t try one on. There’s a legend,” he added. “My Ommie used to tell it to me.”

Now everyone was staring at him again.

“Your _homey_?” Boyd asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“No!” Derek blushed. “My Omega—I mean, my nanny,” he corrected quickly. He glanced at Stiles, but he was still absorbed in the laptop.

“Dude.” Scott said in a withering tone. “You had a _nanny_?”

“Leave him alone,” Lydia ordered. “I want to hear the story.” 

“Me, too.” Erica closed the laptop with a snap, then folded her hands on top of it. “Tell us a story, Derek.”

“I’m not very good at telling stories.”

“Nonsense,” Lydia said briskly, then gave an imperious wave of her hand. “Proceed.”

Derek thought for a minute, although he didn’t really need to. The words came easily to mind. After all he’d heard the story a million times at Margery’s knee. It was one of his favorites. He used to beg her to tell it, even when he was far too old, his father said, for fairy tales.

“Long ago and far away,” he began, using the traditional opening phrase, “there was an Alpha named Mara. She was brave and fierce, but reckless. She was plighted in her cradle to a Beta called Kaius. He was wise beyond his years and was known as Silver Tongue for his good counsel. Although they never met, because their kingdoms lay many leagues apart, the pair exchanged letters as children, and their love for one another grew strong.”

Derek took a breath, aware and a little surprised that the pack was watching him closely. Even Stiles had stopped perusing the website to listen.

“The time came,” Derek continued, “for Mara to lead her clan into battle against their enemies. Her people doubted her leadership, fearing her wild nature would bring them to disaster. But Mara sought Kaius’ counsel, sending him scouts from the battlefield, and he devised a strategy that allowed Mara’s army to defeat their rivals. Then, the pair having reached the age of matrimony, the marriage was concluded. Mara began the journey to Kaius’ kingdom to claim her mate, sending the collar ahead with her most trusted general, her kinswoman Anhale.”

Erica raised her hand like she was in class. “Anhale as in Hale?”

“Yes,” Derek nodded. 

“Cool,” Erica murmured. She drew her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. “Then what happened?”

Derek closed his eyes, picturing Margery’s gentle face grow fierce, as it always did at his point in the story.

“On the way, Mara was attacked by fearsome witches. She defeated them, but the battle delayed her journey by a day.”

Stiles made a small noise. Derek opened his eyes and looked at him, but Stiles gestured for him to continue. When Derek hesitated, he gestured again, impatiently.

Derek took a deep breath. “Kaius’ people mocked him, saying Mara had abandoned her troth. But Kaius knew his mate’s love was true. 'I will wait for her,’ he said, ‘until the end of time.’”

“Aww,” Scott murmured. His face wore that doofy look he got when he was thinking of Allison. Stiles rolled his eyes at him.

“Wearing Mara’s collar,” Derek continued, “Kaius went to the…uh…” He hesitated. 

“Honeymoon palace,” he said finally. He didn’t think the enraptured teenage girls on the couch would appreciate the term ‘breeding chamber.’ Nor the fact that the happy couple were not allowed to leave until it was confirmed that they were, in fact, breeding pups. After all, Derek thought grimly, there was a reason the Alpha’s mate wore a collar.

“And?” Isaac prompted, interrupting Derek’s thoughts. “They lived happily ever after?”

“No, for Kaius was betrayed by his twin brother, Lucien, known throughout the land for his craft and guile. Lucien was enraged that his brother’s promised mate was more high-born than his own. When’s Mara’s pack was finally seen from the heights and the clan began to rejoice, Lucien went to the honeymoon palace and entered, though it was against all laws. There, Lucien told Kaius that Mara had been killed by marauders. Kaius collapsed in grief and--”

“Why couldn’t he tell he was lying?”

Derek blinked at Scott. “What?”

“I thought we could tell when someone was lying. What?” Scott asked when Stiles punched him in the shoulder. “I’m just asking.”

“Some liars are so practiced, they can disguise their heartbeat,” Derek said darkly, thinking of Peter. “Lucien was such. He slew Kaius, buried his body beneath the chamber floor, and took the collar for his own.”

“Finally,” Jackson muttered. “Things are getting interesting.”

“Shhh!” Lydia ordered. “Everybody stop interrupting! Go on,” she told Derek.

Derek cleared his throat. “But the instant Lucien placed the collar around his neck, he felt a terrible burning pain. No matter how loud he howled and how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the collar off. He dug at his neck with his claws, rending his flesh, but the collar clung to him as if it was part of his own hide.” Derek grinned, remembering how Margery had acted out this part of the story, to the delight of Derek and his sister. “Finally, the burning grew so bright that Lucien burst into flames and died in horrible agony.” 

Derek paused for effect. The pack watched him, their eyes wide. 

“Minutes later,” Derek said somberly, “Mara reached the chamber.”

Erica let out a small gasp, then covered her mouth with her hand in embarrassment.

“Remember,” Derek said, “she and Kaius had never met, but she was familiar with his scent from their many letters and gifts to one another. And of course, being brothers, Kaius’ and Lucien’s scents were similar. So when Mara saw and smelled the burned body, she thought it was Kaius. She was about to take her own life from grief, when the voice of her murdered mate spoke to her from beneath the floor. He told her of his brother’s betrayal and begged her to live for the sake of their peoples, now joined by their union.”

Scott whimpered, and Stiles slung a comforting arm around his neck.

“So Mara lived,” Derek finished, “and became both fierce and wise, a mighty Alpha. But she never married nor mated again, and upon her death, Anhale was elected to take her place. And thus,” he added, “the Hale Clan was born.”

There was silence after Derek finished the story.

“So much for happily-ever-after,” Jackson said, then ducked as he was pelted with books, pillows, and other flying objects.

“You’re such a butthead,” Erica told him.

“I have a question,” Lydia said, pointedly ignoring Jackson.

Derek smiled at her. “The chair recognizes Lydia Martin.”

“They had an arranged marriage, right? Was that typical?”

“Yes, for a very good reason,” Derek answered. “Werewolves are notoriously territorial and insular. We don’t like strangers,” he said at Scott’s confused look. “As a matter of fact, we tend to kill them on sight. But do that too long and your packs start to get a little, uh, inbred.”

“That explains Peter,” Jackson muttered, and this time no one objected.

“So, centuries ago, the major Clans got together and agreed to arrange marriages between them,” Derek went on. “That way, bloodlines mix, becoming stronger rather than weaker over time. Matches were brokered when both parties were young and traditionally, a couple didn’t meet until the night of their wedding. It was mostly just for Alphas,” he added. “Betas and Omegas had much more freedom of choice. “

“But, ew!” Erica objected. “What if they met and didn’t like each other? Or what if one of them had already met someone else and fallen in love?”

Derek hesitated, then shrugged. “It was for the good of the pack,” he said. “And the Clan.”

“Wolves don’t still do that, do they?” Scott asked, sounding worried.

Derek smiled reassuringly. “Sometimes,” he said. “But it’s pretty rare these days. And again, only the Alphas of the major Clans.”

“What about you and Kate?” Lydia asked.

Derek glared at her, but she merely raised her eyebrows and opened Erica’s laptop to the gossip page. 

“‘The question on everyone’s mind,” Lydia read, “is this: Will Kerek’s break-up ultimately break their union? We asked mating expert Daphne Smalls, author of _On the Prowl: Mating Habits of the Modern Wolf_.’”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Derek said. He rose and stalked to the kitchen, where he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He returned to the living room and slumped in the armchair, brooding, while Lydia continued reading as if he’d never left.

“‘The Hales are a traditional clan,’ Daphne explained, speaking by phone from her bustling office in the Hollywood Hills. ‘No previous generation of the Hales has broken troth. It would be considered a major breach of etiquette.’”

Derek choked on his beer. “Not true!” he objected, but Lydia held up a finger for silence as she read on.

“‘But Kate is a liberated, modern wolf,’ Daphne assured us. ‘She’s shown she’s not afraid to buck protocol. If she were one of my clients at Meet Your Mate, my online mating service, I’d advise her to follow her heart.’” Lydia made a gagging noise again, then looked at Derek. “So which is it?”

“Is this really any of your business?” Derek asked plaintively.

“Of course it is,” Erica said promptly. “You’re our Alpha. If you marry this girl, we’re all gonna have to live with her, right?”

“Point taken,” Derek admitted. He didn’t have the heart to tell Erica that Kate probably wouldn’t set foot in a one-wolf town like Beacon Hills if her life depended on it. 

“Okay, here’s the story,” Derek said to forestall any more discussion. “My grandparents had an arranged marriage, and so did my parents. But things are different nowadays. You get to meet your intended, first of all. Kate and I have known each other our whole lives. She’s my older sister Laura’s best friend, as a matter of fact.”

“And,” he continued, holding up a hand to silence the girls, “no one expects you to get mated if you don’t want to. Laura was pledged to a Beta named Marcus LeVacq. He’s a great guy, but neither one of them felt anything beyond friendship, so they called it off. No one had a problem with that, even my so-called traditional clan, no matter what some stupid gossip site says.”

“These days,” he added, “arranged marriages are like…” He paused, trying to think of the right analogy. “They’re like still being a virgin on your wedding night. It’s nice if it happens, but no one expects it, and as a matter of fact, it’s considered old-fashioned and a little bit embarrassing.”

Jackson sneered down the table at Stiles. “You hear that, Stilinksi?” he asked. “You’re a loser in both worlds.”

Stiles’ face went white and blank, and there was a sudden silence among the pack, so deep you could hear a claw drop.

Then Stiles launched himself out of his chair, scrambled over the table, and tackled Jackson to the floor.


	18. Chapter 18

Derek leapt to his feet in shock, but to his surprise, the rest of the pack barely reacted to the attack. And rather than fight back, Jackson merely rolled himself into a ball and let Stiles beat and kick him until he exhausted himself. 

Scott intervened at that point, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist and plucking him off Jackson as easily as if he were a child, murmuring reassurances the whole time.

“Come on, buddy, ease up. He didn’t mean it. Come on, Stiles.”

Jackson sat up, leaned against the wall, and grinned, despite the blood gushing out of his nose. “You’re getting better, Stilinski. Keep it up and you just might make first line.”

Murder in his eyes, Stiles surged in Scott’s arms, fighting to get free and take another swing. His face was white as bone and his eye were angry slits. Jackson laughed.

“Control your pet, McCall.”

“God dammit, Jackson, quit it,” Scott complained, pulling Stiles further back and struggling to hold him still. Stiles kicked out and his foot caught Jackson’s chin, snapping his head back hard enough to break his neck, but the Beta just laughed again.

“Jackson!” Lydia stood. “That’s enough!”

“We’re just having some fun, babe.”

“Oh, _crap_ ,” Scott said suddenly.

Stiles sagged in Scott’s grip, dropping to his knees. His body doubled over, as if in pain, and he clapped his hands to his head, pressing his face to the floor, his mouth open in silent agony.

A high whistling noise filled the air. The light fixture over the table spun around and shot sparks like a firecracker. The light bulbs exploded, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Meanwhile, the glass in the windows rattled with hurricane force, and the panes in the front window shattered one-by-one as if being shot out by bullets. 

The pack dove for cover. Jackson combat-crawled under the table, Isaac reached up and tugged Lydia onto the floor, and Boyd stood, bodily lifted Erica off the couch, and curled his body around her. Scott did the same thing to Stiles.

“Dammit, Stiles!” he roared. “We just went to Home Depot last month!”

The whistling noise got louder, and now the furniture was rising in the air and rotating around the room. The wind whipped the drapes out horizontally, and tugged at Derek’s hair and clothing like grabbing hands.

In the midst of the chaos, Boyd looked up at Derek. His body was still curled around Erica, but his eyes were yellow and wild. Derek recognized his dilemma: Protect his mate or protect his Alpha? Fortunately, his indecision finally kick-started Derek’s instincts.

Derek leapt on the table, wolfed out, and gave his mightiest Alpha roar.

“ENOUGH!” he bellowed.

Instantly, everything stopped. 

The wind died.

With a heavy thud, the furniture dropped back to the floor 

In the silence that followed, a shard of glass tilted slowly inward on the front window, then fell on the tablestop, shattering with a delicate tinkling sound.

Derek breathed in, the smell of burnt electrics stinging his nose, and looked around the room

The pack had responded automatically to Derek’s roar. Every member, including Stiles, was now rolled into a fetal position.

“Okay,” Derek said softly. “Everyone except Stiles, outside now.” 

As the pack peeled themselves off the floor and slunk outside, Derek jumped down off the table and crouched next to Stiles. He was tucked tightly into himself, faced pressed to his knees and arms wrapped around his head, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

Derek sensed Scott lingering at the door. “You, too, Scott,” he said without looking up. “I got this,” he added when Scott hesitated.

Derek waited until Scott was gone, then scooped Stiles up in his arms, carried him to the armchair, and set him down in his lap, wrapping his arms around him.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he soothed. “It’s okay, pup.”

Stiles, in a full-blown panic, pressed his face against Derek’s chest and gasped for air, his thin shoulders heaving. Derek rubbed his hand up and down his back. “Breathe,” he ordered. “Breathe.”

Stiles took a shaky, gulping breath, then another. Slowly, with Derek coaching, his breathing returned to normal. But as it did, he gave a muffled sob, his fist tightening in Derek’s shirt front.

Derek pressed his cheek to Stiles’ hair. “It’s okay, pup,” he said again. “I’ve got you. Go ahead and cry,” he whispered.

Stiles gave in and collapsed against Derek, sobbing desperately. His other hand crept up and grabbed his shirt collar, until he was almost, but not quite, winding his arms around Derek’s neck. Derek rocked him and shushed him and stroked his back and nuzzled the mark on his neck, murmuring nonsense the whole time.

Stiles’ sobs were just starting to ease when there was a roar in the darkness outside. Derek recognized Scott’s tone.

Stiles stiffened and instantly stopped crying. He pushed himself off Derek’s chest and stood, his legs as wobbly a newborn colt’s. He turned his face away, scrubbing his shirt sleeve across his eyes, and gestured for Derek to go outside.

“Are you sure?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, still not looking at him.

Derek stood, wrapped his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, and pulled him close, then rested their foreheads together.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised.

Still not making eye contact, Stiles nodded, then shoved at Derek again. Derek kissed the top of his head and walked away.

The roar came again as Derek stepped out on the front porch. Scott and Jackson were wolfed out and squared off at the far end of the clearing. 

Boyd stood between them, holding them apart at arm’s length, but they’d obviously been at it: Scott’s left arm was dislocated and hung uselessly from his shoulder, while half of Jackson’s face was ripped off.

They snarled at one another and fought against Boyd’s grip, and Derek could see Boyd’s muscles straining to hold them apart. Isaac was on the ground behind Jackson, clutching his arm—clearly he’d tried to intervene, too. Erica had, as well, and had been sent sprawling. As Derek strode across the clearing, she rolled, regained her footing, and crouched behind Scott, ready to spring.

The part of Derek’s brain that wasn’t filled with white-hot fury was pleased with his pack’s fighting ability.

Lydia, meanwhile, stood in the center of the melee, hands on her hips, bitching at the top of her voice.

“—not helping anything, you stupid stubborn pig-headed macho JERKS!”

“That’s enough, Lydia.” Derek put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she sputtered to a stop, breathing hard. Two spots of high color stood out on her pale cheeks.

“All of you, stand down,” Derek ordered. 

The pack obeyed, if reluctantly. Boyd released his grip, and Scott and Jackson stepped back, still snarling and baring their teeth at one another. Erica stood and gave Isaac a hand up from the ground. Within seconds, all had returned to human form and were shamefacedly looking at Derek, shoulders hunched defensively in anticipation of punishment.

“That’s better.” Derek gave a nod, then looked at Scott.

“Scott, get inside.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “But he—”

Derek stepped toward him, growling, and Scott backed down, dropping his eyes. 

Derek stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. When Scott looked up, Derek jerked his chin toward the house. “Stiles needs you,” he said softly. “Go.”

Scott hesitated, then nodded. He casually rolled his shoulder and, with a sickening crunch, his bones clicked back into place. Shooting a final glare at Jackson, he stalked toward the house.

“Jackson,” Derek pointed at him, “stay right where you are. We need to talk. Boyd,” he turned to the Beta he suddenly realized was his second. “Take the others home, please.” 

Boyd blinked at him in surprise. Isaac and Erica did as well. Then Erica grabbed Isaac’s arm and hustled him toward the house. 

“Boyd,” Derek said as he was about to follow. When Boyd turned toward him, Derek repeated the gesture he’d used with Stiles. He curled his hand around the back of Boyd’s neck and pulled their foreheads together.

“Good job tonight,” Derek murmured. He could feel the Beta's body relax and his anxiety ease. 

Derek stepped back and clapped him on the shoulder. Boyd gave a firm nod in reply, then strode after the other two.

“Lydia,” Derek turned toward her. “Go with the others. I’m not going to hurt him,” he added, when her eyes went anxiously to Jackson. “We’re just going to talk.”

Lydia hesitated, looking between Jackson and Derek. Her eyes were enormous and her lips trembling.

“I promise,” Derek said, answering Lydia's unasked question. “He’ll call you later.”

Lydia pressed her lips together, then raised her chin and gave a firm nod. “He’d better,” she said. With a flounce, she turned on her heel and walked toward the house, deliberately not hurrying. 

The others had retrieved their backpacks and jackets from the living room and were heading toward Boyd’s car. Erica handed Lydia her things, and as the car pulled out, Derek saw Lydia reapplying her lipstick with the help of the rear-view mirror.

As the taillights disappeared into the night, Derek looked at Jackson. His handsome face was knitting itself back together as he healed, but his snarl was firmly in place.

Derek took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said calmly. “Let’s talk.”


	19. Chapter 19

Jackson scowled and folded his arms across his chest, snarling as his almost-too-handsome face knitted itself back together. “Fine, let’s talk,” he sneered.

Derek could tell the Beta was trembling with terror under his bravado, so he kept his tone mild. “I need you to explain something to me.”

Jackson’s eyes flickered in suspicion. “What?”

“Why would you go after a pack brother like that?” When Jackson didn’t answer, Derek stepped closer. “You’ve fought together, haven’t you? That means you’re pack, forever. Why would you do that?”

Jackson looked away and mumbled something.

Derek stepped closer again, deliberately invading Jackson’s space. “I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I didn’t quite catch that.” 

Jackson still wouldn’t look at him, so Derek used a little of his Alpha tone. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“Fine!” Jackson’s head whipped around, and he glared at Derek, his blue eyes almost glowing with rage. “I hate that guy!”

They were practically nose to nose now. “Why?” Derek spat.

“Because I owe him!”

Derek blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I owe him. God!” Jackson added when Derek stared at him. He turned and paced, running his hands through his hair in frustration. 

Derek waited patiently until Jackson rounded on him again. “Explain,” he said.

Jackson growled, but obeyed. “Last year, when I was…when I was the kanima, I killed people—”

“Jackson.” Derek interrupted him. “Someone else was controlling you, both times. No one blames you for what happened—"

“Don’t say that to me!” Jackson bellowed, his face turning red. “God, I am so sick of people _saying_ that to me!” He paced again, ripping up a few small saplings in his rage.

“Okay.” Derek held out his hands, placating. “Help me understand here.”

Jackson came stomping back and poked himself in the chest. “I asked for the Bite.”

“I know that,” Derek said calmly. “So did Isaac and Erica and—" He broke off as Jackson shook his head.

“They had _reasons_ ,” Jackson snapped. “Erica was sick, and Isaac’s old man used him a punching bag.”

Jackson stepped closer to Derek and poked himself in the chest again. “Do you wanna know why I asked for the Bite? Huh? So I could be better at _lacrosse_.” Jackson’s face twisted, and his voice deepened with disgust. “Because I was jealous of all the attention McCall was getting.”

Jackson’s voice rose again. “And people died because of it.” He pointed a shaking finger at Derek, and spoke through clenched teeth, almost spitting out the words. “So there is no way you can stand there and tell me I’m not to blame for what I did!”

He stopped, chest heaving.

Derek absorbed his words for a moment, then spoke quietly.

“You’re right,” he said. 

Jackson looked up at him, startled. “What?”

“You’re right,” Derek said. “I cannot say that you’re completely innocent. You did make some choices that affected the outcome.”

Jackson’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he looked at his feet. “Thank you.”

Derek laid a hand on his shoulder. “I may be the Alpha,” he said, “but I swear I will never make excuses for you or treat you like a child. I will always hold you responsible for your actions. Okay?” 

Jackson looked away, then sniffed and rubbed a hand across his nose. “Okay.”

“Good,” Derek said. “Now tell me what all this has to do with Stiles.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and turned away. To Derek’s surprise, he sat down on the ground, ripping up blades of grass with his fingers. Derek sat next to him and waited. Finally, Jackson flung the grass away and spoke.

“The night of the warehouse fire, the night Peter died…” Jackson hesitated. “Lydia saved me. Somehow, she brought me back from where I was. We were broken up and everything, but she still saved me.” He shook his head, like he still couldn’t believe it. “The thing is…”

“Yes?” Derek asked.

Jackson huffed out a breath. “She didn’t know where I was. She went to Stiles and begged him to help her, and he did. He brought her to the warehouse.”

Derek frowned. “Isn’t that when he ran you over with his Jeep?”

Jackson laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.” He went back to tearing up grass. Derek winced for the bald patch on his lawn.

“The thing is,” Jackson continued, “Stiles was totally gone on Lydia. He always has been, ever since the third grade.”

“Really?” Derek was taken aback. He wasn’t sure how he could have missed that. “They just seem like good friends. Packmates.”

“Well, yeah, _now_ ,” Jackson said, like it was obvious. “But back then, geez.” He rolled his eyes. “The poor son-of-a-bitch was eating his heart out over her, and everybody knew it. Hell, Stiles traded himself to Peter for Lydia, the night…” Jackson stopped. “Anyway, it must have killed him to help Lydia save me, but he did it anyway. If it had been me and a girl I liked?” Jackson shook his head. “No way in hell.”

He looked at Derek. “So I owe him.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Derek asked.

“I don’t _like_ owing people,” Jackson hissed.

“So you decided humiliating Stiles was a way to get back?”

“Maybe.” Jackson rose to his feet. There was a stray lacrosse stick lying on the grass. He picked it up and gave a few practice swings. 

Derek suddenly put two and two together. “Does this have anything to do with the big game tomorrow night?”

“Maybe,” Jackson muttered again. He took a few more swings. When Derek just stared at him, he scowled. “You have no idea how much pressure I’m under. If we don’t make state again this year, it’s on me. The whole town is watching, especially my parents. Don’t you get that?”

Derek stood. “What the hell, Jackson? You’re stressed about a lacrosse game, so you thought you’d let off a little steam by bullying your packmate?”

Jackson placed a hand on his chest, eyes wide with innocence. “Hey, it’s not just me. It’s good for Stiles, too.”

“Really?” Derek folded his arms. “How so?

Jackson laughed. “Do you have any idea how much it sucks to be Stinlinski?” He counted on his fingers. “First, he’s the town freak. Second, he’s surrounded by people who could kill him with one hand, and I’m including Lydia in that. Third, do you know how many times got his ass handed to him last year? Allison’s _elderly grandfather_ beat the crap out of him. Hell, even Scott tried to kill him a few times when he was first turned, and they’re best buds.” 

Jackson shrugged. “So every once in a while, I wind him up a little bit. Let him beat on me. I feel better, he feels better, everybody wins. Stiles will play better tomorrow night, you’ll see.” Jackson suddenly became interested in flicking the grass with the stick. “That is, if you come to the game."

Derek blinked. “Do you want me to come to the game?”

Jackson shrugged again, off-handed. “I know you’re supposed to pretend you barely know us, apart from the whole community service thing. But everyone in town comes to the games.” His face took on its usual smug expression. “So it’s not like it would be weird if you were there.” 

“Good point.” Derek said thoughtfully. He knew he would be much more comfortable at the game, where he could keep his eye on his pack, then he would waiting and worrying at home. And it might help cement his cover as Beacon Hills’ resident nonthreatening Hale.

“Fine,” he said decisively. “I’ll be there.”

Jackson flipped the stick casually in his hand. “If you want to,” he said, his voice equally casual.

“I do,” Derek said. “I’d like to see you play,” he added.

If Jackson were a puppy, his tail would be wagging. But he managed to keep his expression indifferent. “Whatever.”

“I need to go to town anyway,“ Derek said, “since I’ll be replacing half the windows in my house.”

Jackson had the grace to wince, then rub the back of his neck self-consciously. “Yeah, sometimes when Stiles loses his shit, he really loses it, know what I mean?”

“I do now.” Together, they turned and looked at the house. Derek noticed the light was on in Stiles’ attic room.

“I wish I knew how to help him,” he murmured.

He was speaking more to himself than Jackson, but Jackson answered. “You should make him do those grounding exercises."

Derek stared at him. “What?”

Jackson grimaced, embarrassed to be called out. “You know, those stupid exercises you have us do to help control our shift. If they work for werewolves, they oughta work for magic. It’s all just energy, right?”

Derek stared at him. “I never thought of it that way.”

Jackson scowled again. “Hey, nobody ever said I was stupid.” He hesitated. “Well, Lydia does, but…”

The front door opened, and Scott stomped out on the porch carrying Jackson backpack. With a tremendous heave, he flung it across the yard, and it landed at Jackson’s feet. Scott stomped back inside and slammed the door so hard another pane of glass fell out of the living room window.

Both Jackson and Derek flinched.

“Guess I should go,” Jackson said.

“Right. What time is your game tomorrow night?” 

“Warm-up’s at seven-thirty, but you should get there early if you want a good seat.” Jackson blushed to the roots of his hair. “I mean, whenever.”

“Sounds good.”

Jackson stood, hesitating, until Derek figured out what he wanted. Stepping forward, he cupped his hand around the back of Jackson’s neck and brought their foreheads together, like he’d done with Boyd. 

“Go kill those Wildcats,” he said.

Jackson grinned, his perfect face lighting up. 

“Aye-aye, Alpha,” he said cheerfully, then scooped his backpack off the ground and loped to his car.

Derek took a deep breath and headed back inside the house. He found Scott slumped on the bottom step of the stairway, his face sulky.

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek asked.

Scott’s shoulders drooped even more, and his expression could have stood next to the word _hangdog_ in the dictionary. “He’s in his room and he won’t let me in.” He listlessly held up a set of car keys. “He even said I should take the Jeep and go home.”

Derek sighed and sat next to Scott on the step. “How often does Stiles get like this?”

Scott made a face. “Every once in a while.”

“Do you know what set him off? I mean, was there a specific trigger?”

“Nah,” Scott said. “He just gets angry and the next thing you know…BOOM!” Scott waved his hands in the air to symbolize chaos. “He doesn’t mean to, and he always feels bad afterwards,” he added quickly. “He just doesn’t know how to control it.”

Derek frowned. “Isn’t that why he’s taking lessons from Deaton?”

Scott shrugged. “Deaton says it’s more difficult for Stiles. Something about Stiles being more powerful to begin with because he was born a witch, instead of a mage who learned it, like Deaton did. But he should have been trained from birth to handle it, and he wasn't.”

“It's like learning to walk,” Derek said, remembering his conversation with Stiles. "The older you are, the harder it is. Like with Bitten werewolves instead of Born ones."

Scott gave a restless shrug. “I guess. What did Jackson say?”

Derek hesitated, reluctant to break Jackson’s confidence. “Believe it or not, he said it was good for Stiles to blow off some steam before tomorrow night’s game.”

Scott stared at him. “What the hell?”

Derek shrugged. “Apparently, goading Stiles into attacking him is Jackson’s way of helping.”

“That’s crap!” Scott said angrily. “ _I’m_ Stiles’ best friend. If he’s going to beat on anyone, it should be _me_.”

Derek laughed. “Maybe next time.”

Scott glowered. “Damn straight.”

There was a cheerful chirping noise. After a second, Derek recognized it as the ringtone on his cell phone.

“It’s been ringing off the hook,” Scott told him. 

“Crap.” Derek tiredly rubbed his eyes. “You should go,” he told Scott.

“Are you sure?” Scott looked anxious.

“You need to get some sleep before the big game. I’ll make sure Stiles texts you,” Derek added.

“Okay.” Scott stood reluctantly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Derek said.

Scott’s face brightened. “You’re coming to the game?”

“Yeah, but remember,” Derek warned, “officially we’re just acquaintances.“

“No, I got it, I’ll be cool.” Scott grinned, then headed out the door. “See you!” he called back over his shoulder. The screen door whined, then slammed behind him.

Derek rose and went in search of his phone. The pack had set the living room to rights, returning the furniture to their original spots and sweeping up the broken glass. Still, Derek blanched when he saw the damage. 

Fortunately, it was still early enough in autumn that the night was mild. He’d head to the hardware store tomorrow and order new glass for the windows.

Derek’s phone chirped again, and he found it on the floor by the armchair. The Caller ID said “Dr. Alan Deaton.”

“Hale,” Derek answered.

“Everything okay up there?” Deaton asked mildly. “All the windows in my house rattled, but I’m pretty sure we didn’t have an earthquake.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Derek said shortly.

“Very well.” Deaton sounded unperturbed. “In that case, I have a message for you from Chris Argent.”

“Again?” They’d been going round and round for days, trying to negotiate a summit meeting. “What is it?”

“He suggests Wednesday evening.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Derek asked. “Wednesday is the full moon, and Argent fucking well knows it.”

“I’m just the messenger, Alpha Hale.” 

“Then tell Argent to stop wasting my time,” Derek snapped. “We meet a week from Wednesday in a neutral location, and that’s my final offer.”

“Very well. I’ll convey that to Chris. Have you chosen a second yet?”

“Boyd,” Derek replied.

There was a brief silence. “Not Scott?” Deaton asked demurely.

“It’s Boyd,” Derek snarled. The last thing he wanted to do was give Hunters the impression that Scott was still in charge. If anyone was going to come gunning after the Beacon Hills Pack, they needed to know exactly who they’d be dealing with.

“Very well,” Deaton said again. “Is that all?”

“It is. Good night, Doctor.” Derek hung up, still fuming. 

He thought about climbing the stairs to the third floor. If Stiles refused to let him in, Derek would just rip the door of the hatch off its hinges and--

Derek took a deep breath, sat in the armchari, and forced himself to calm down. 

After a few moments, he had a better idea: He sent a text to Stiles.

_R U OK_?

The reply came almost immediately. 

_Yes. Sorry @ mess. Will fix it._

_Don’t worry about that_ , Derek typed. _I just need to know that you’re okay._

There were a few seconds of silence, then the phone chirped again. 

_Just hate it when I get that way. Don’t want 2 hurt anyone but don’t know what 2 do @ it._

_I may have an idea about that_ , Derek texted. 

Stiles’ answer was immediate: 

_???????_

Derek grinned and sent his reply: 

_How do you feel about a road trip to Los Angeles?_


	20. Chapter 20

It was dawn on Friday when Derek stumbled downstairs. Stiles was waiting at the foot of the stairs, obviously trying to look cool instead of eager. He handed Derek a bagel and a travel mug from which the fragrance of coffee rose like incense to the heavens.

“Good boy,” Derek said fervently as he slurped. The coffee was just the way he liked it—black and strong enough to stand a spoon in.

Stiles grinned and led the way out of the house, cheerfully bouncing down the porch steps. Fog lay heavy over the forest, softening the trees and obscuring the edges of the clearing.

Derek stopped, hackles rising as he caught two scents. 

He recognized them a second later, and his shoulders relaxed. Sure enough, Allison and Lydia were waiting at the Camaro when he trudged up.

“Girls,” he said warily.

“Derek,” Lydia yawned prettily.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Lydia stretched her arms above her head, as casual as a cat. “Hitching a ride to Los Angeles.”

“It’s Friday,” Derek said evenly. “You should be in school.”

Lydia examined her buffed-to-perfection fingernails. “I got permission to take the day off.”

“Oh, really,” Derek asked. “And how did you manage that?”

“I have an open invitation to visit Cal Tech whenever I want. It’s a recruiting thing,” she explained sweetly. 

Derek looked at the other girl. “Allison?”

“Grief counseling,” she said.

“Oh, for fuck’s safe.” Derek rubbed his eyes. He knew when he was beat; still, he tried to put up a token resistance. “I can’t wrangle three humans into the Werchives, especially when one of them is a Hunter.”

“Oh, we’re not going to the Werchives,” Lydia said. 

“Then what—" Derek closed his eyes. “Shopping.”

“Yep,” Allison said cheerfully.

Derek opened his eyes and glowered at the girls. “The rest of the Pack isn’t going to like this,” he said. “It’s not fair that you three get to skip school when the others don’t.”

Lydia shrugged. “We drew straws.”

“What? When?” Derek sputtered. He looked at Stiles, who also shrugged. Then he made his eyes big and mournful and made a pleading gesture, folding his hands together as if in prayer.

Derek gave in. “Fine,” he snapped. 

Lydia and Allison squealed and bounced, then planted kisses on Derek’s cheeks, one on each side. 

“All right, that’s enough,” he groused. “Get in the car.”

The girls scrambled ahead to the Camaro. Stiles grinned cheerfully at Derek, then followed. When Derek climbed in the car, he found steaming travel mugs and bagels already ensconced in the back seat. He glared at Stiles, who shrugged again.

Derek started the Camaro with a roar. “Driver picks the music,” he warned.

He needn’t have bothered. All three teens immediately put on their headphones and were asleep by the time they reached the outskirts of Beacon Hills. 

Derek drove quickly, going over his plan in his head. He also found himself reviewing the past week. The Pack had come through their first Full Moon since Derek arrived with flying colors. (Derek had been reluctant to leave town so soon after, but Boyd promised to call him immediately if anything went wrong.) It probably helped that the Beacon Hills lacrosse team had beaten the pants off their rivals at the Saturday night game. Jackson and Scott had both scored goals. Isaac had played well, his quick, agile moves making him an asset on the field. Even Stiles had acquitted himself admirably in the brief time he had been allowed to play, completing four passes and only tripping himself on his stick once. 

Derek remembered one moment in particular. Jackson scored a tricky goal off Isaac’s assist. In the celebration that followed, Jackson ran toward the other boy. Grinning, he wrapped his hand around the back of Isaac’s neck and banged their helmets together. Isaac grinned back, slapping Jackson’s helmet in reply, and Derek felt a fierce pride in both.

Jackson had been right about the game. Almost everyone in Beacon Hills was there, so Derek's presence seemed to be taken for granted by the townsfolk. The fake story about Peter that Derek had planted seemed to have spread throughout the town, as most people greeted him with more warmth than previously, with one exception: A member of the booster club introduced him to Deaton, who greeted him with cool indifference.

“Hale, is it?” he asked as he shook Derek’s hand. “I’d heard of your uncle, but our paths never crossed.”

“I’m not surprised,” Derek replied. “Peter hated cats and was allergic to dogs.”

The barest hint of a smile touched Deaton’s lips. “Welcome to Beacon Hills,” he said.

Stiles twitched and muttered in the passenger seat, breaking into Derek’s thoughts. He was wearing his red hoodie with the hood pulled up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. Somehow, it made him look even younger. As Derek watched, Stiles slowly toppled over in his sleep, smushing his face against the window. His mouth hung open a little bit. 

Moving cautiously, Derek reached over, touched Stiles’ chin with two fingers, and gently closed his mouth. Stiles twitched in his sleep, then slowly toppled in the opposite direction, until his head rested on Derek’s shoulder. His mouth drooped open again, and Derek resigned himself to having drool on his leather jacket.

As they drew closer to the southern half of the state, the traffic picked up, and Derek felt the long-familiar tension creep back into his shoulders. Stiles must have sensed the change somehow, because he woke up, blinking and rubbing his eyes, and yawned so wide his jaw cracked audibly. He peered at the clock on the dash, then at Derek.

“Couple more hours,” Derek said, resisting the urge to run his hand through Stiles’ already-mussed hair. Stiles let out a huff of annoyance, slouched in his seat, and started a game on his phone. The girls woke up soon after and demanded to pee, forcing Derek to stop at a smoothie shop instead of In and Out. Twenty excruciating minutes later, they were back on the road, the three teens slurping their smoothies in stereo.

When they reached the outskirts of LA, Derek phoned the office to make certain arrangements. Then he navigated through the busy streets to Rodeo Drive, pulling up in front of the Wilshire. Stiles gawped, and the girls looked impressed—and even a little intimidated. Derek gave them his sternest look.

“Keep your cell phones on at all times,” he ordered. “Stick together and stay out of trouble. Don't talk to strangers and don't let anyone buy you drinks, not even a Coke. I’ll text you when I’m coming back to pick you up. Allison, you’re in charge of this.” He held out his gold card.

The girls stared at it, eyes wide as saucers.

“What is that?” Allison whispered.

“It’s my credit card,” Derek said. “You’re authorized to use it.”

Lydia gave a little yip of surprise, then covered her mouth with both hands.

“Within reason,” Derek told her. “Try not to break the bank.”

“When did you do that?” Allison asked breathlessly. 

“Just now, on the phone. That’s what you get for wearing headphones,” Derek added when both girls gaped at him. He waggled the card. “Going once, twice…”

Allison snatched it out of his hand and slipped it into her purse. 

“Lydia, you ready?” Derek asked.

Lydia whipped out her compact and checked her hair and lipstick, then snapped it shut. “Absolutely,” she said.

Derek beckoned to the valet hovering outside the car. The young man dashed forward and opened the door for the girls. Lydia flashed him a dazzling smile and a little bit of leg as she took his hand. Allison followed gamely, and Derek passed the young man a fifty.

“It’s Curtis, right?” he asked.

“Yes, Mister Hale,” the valet replied.

“Keep your eye on the young ladies," he ordered. "Make sure they're safe, and if anyone hassles them, you call my cell."

“Very good, Mister Hale,” the valet replied. Derek nodded in reply and pulled out into traffic. He stopped at the light, cursing the barrage of shoppers and tourists already crowding the streets, and glanced over at Stiles, who was watching him closely.

“What?” Derek asked defensively.

Stiles gave him a long, considering look, followed by a slow, excruciatingly loud slurp as he sucked up the dregs of his pineapple-mango smoothie.

“Oh, whatever,” Derek replied. The light changed, and the pulled ahead.

“Okay,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “Next stop, the Werchives." He took a deep breath. "Ready or not, here we come.”


	21. Chapter 21

Derek drove to his condo downtown, where he changed into a suit. It was the first time he’d worn one since leaving LA, and he liked it even less than before. He buttoned the shirt collar with a grimace and walked into the living room.

Stiles stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, looking out at the magnificent view of the city and the ocean. He turned as Derek entered and made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire room, from the midcentury modern furnishings to the enormous abstract paintings on the walls.

“I guess,” Derek said distractedly, still struggling with the tiny buttons at his neck. “Kate picked everything out.” His shirt collar felt too small now, like he’d bulked up while in Beacon Hills. He supposed it was possible—he hadn’t set foot in a gym, but he’d been training with the pack nonstop. He finally got the collar buttoned, then held up two neckties. “What do you think? The gold or the red?”

Stiles pointed at the red tie.

“You sure?” Derek turned and looked at himself in a nearby floor-to-ceiling mirror, holding both ties against his shirt.

Stiles pointed to the red again.

“Okay.” Derek tossed the gold tie over the back of an Eames chair and slung the red one around his neck. He tried to tie it, but his fingers were clumsy and trembled a little. He swore loudly.

Stiles tapped him on the shoulder and gestured imperiously for Derek to turn toward him. Derek obeyed, and Stiles’ long, clever fingers quickly tied the knot, then deftly folded down the collar at the back of his neck. He adjusted Derek’s suit coat and smoothed his shirt front with a flourish, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

“Okay?” Derek asked anxiously.

Stiles rolled his eyes, then grasped Derek’s shoulders and turned him around to look at his reflection in the mirror.

Derek frowned. He’d gotten out of the habit of looking in mirrors in Beacon Hills. Sure, there was one over the bathroom sink that he used while shaving, but that was it. Come to think of it, he didn’t shave as much as he used to, so his face was on the scruffy side, definitely at odds with his suit. His hair was fuller, too, sticking up in all directions as it was wont, rather than laying smooth under a stylist’s cut and a layer of gel. His skin was tanned, and his shoulders were definitely broader, his suit coat stretched uncomfortably tight across his back.

Stiles snapped his fingers in front of Derek’s face.

Derek blinked. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m just nervous.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not good at lying,” he admitted.

Stiles proudly pointed to himself.

Derek laughed. “You are? Okay, what’s the secret?”

Stiles straightened his spine, flung back his shoulders, and strutted a few paces.

“Confidence?” Derek guessed.

Stiles smiled and snapped his fingers at Derek again. He whipped out his phone, typed, and held it up.

_If u OWN it they will BUY it._

“If you say so,” Derek said dubiously.

Stiles rolled his eyes, then typed again. 

_Just act like Lydia._

Derek laughed again. “Okay,” he said. “That I can do. Hang on a second,” he added. “I almost forgot.”

He went back into the bedroom and grabbed the T-shirt he’d been wearing. He’d worn it the night before, as well, so it was saturated with his scent. He went back in the living room and tossed it to Stiles.

“Put this on. It will help you smell like me.”

Stiles pulled off his inevitable plaid flannel overshirt and his own T-shirt, which read GAME OR DIE. He stuffed the T-shirt in his backpack, then put on Derek’s. It was large, but not overly so. Stiles was taller and broader in the shoulder then he first appeared, due to his tendency to slouch. He pulled the flannel shirt back on, straightened his shoulders, and looked expectantly at Derek.

“Good,” Derek said. “Let me just…”

He reached for Stiles, pleased when the boy didn’t flinch. As Stiles had done, Derek folded down the collar of the shirt and straightened the shoulders, then smoothed the front. With his hands still on Stiles’ shoulders, he stepped closer and gave a cautious sniff of his neck.

Stiles tilted his head to the side, baring Derek’s mark on his skin. Further pleased, Derek placed his hand over his mark, and Stiles tilted his head even further to the side, relaxing under Derek’s touch.

Derek gave a long, luxurious sniff along Stiles’ neck and up to his ear. His wolf liked the way Stiles smelled, their scents intermingled now, with Stiles’ faint chemical tang overlaid with Derek’s musky odor. Derek felt his own shoulders relax and reluctantly stepped back, then turned them both around to face the mirror. He scowled at his own reflection, feeling like an idiot in his too-small suit, but Stiles gave him a grin and a cheerful thumbs-up. 

Derek sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

***

The Werchives were housed in a building that, from the outside, looked like a nineteenth century railroad station. On the inside, it resembled a smaller version of the Library of Congress. The main reading room was an enormous rotunda, with the long narrow hallways that made up the collection going off from the center room like spokes in a wheel. 

The rotunda was three open storeys, with books on all three levels. A system of elaborate, wrought-iron catwalks and rolling ladders led to the books, including thousands of oversized volumes in magnificent tooled-leather bindings. 

Above, the domed roof of the rotunda let in muted sunlight through a series of midnight-blue stained-glass windows. They depicted the moon in its journey through a starry night sky, waxing from the faintest sliver of a sickle to a magnificent, golden full moon and then waning again into darkness. When Derek was a child, he used to make himself dizzy by turning in place under the dome and following the continuous images over and over with his eyes. Then he’d explore the wings that held the main collection. The long corridors were three storeys as well, but closed and dark rather than open. However, the floors were made of thick, opaque, pearly glass. The light filtered down through the glass like moonlight, while the footsteps of those walking on the floors above sounded muted and mysterious, faint musical tones rather than dull heavy thuds. 

Remembering, Derek felt a delighted shiver run down his spine as he entered the main room. He paused to draw in a deep breath, reveling in the familiar, comforting, musty smell of old books. He glanced behind him at Stiles and saw the same reverent expression on his face.

“I’ll bring you back here when we have more time,” he found himself promising. “I spent hours exploring it as a child. Would you like that?”

Stiles nodded eagerly. Derek glanced around. The rotunda was quiet on a Friday morning, as he’d hoped. The few patrons were absorbed in their reading, and archivists and staff members were busy with various tasks.

Derek straightened his shoulders. _Own it_ , he told himself, then turned to Stiles

“Remember,” he told him. “Two steps behind. Sorry,” he added, but Stiles shrugged impatiently and waved his hand in dismissal. 

Derek turned and walked along the curving wall of the rotunda, toward the reference section. He could feel Stiles two steps behind him, but didn’t dare look back. A few patrons glanced up distractedly as they passed, sniffing the air, but returned to their books.

Derek breathed a little easier and felt his confidence grow. By the time he reached the reference desk, he was in full Alpha mode, slipping into it far more easily than his thousand-dollar suit. He paused, glaring down at the spindly young man who sat at the desk. When he glanced up, Derek gave him his most thunderous scowl, complete with what the Pack called his Eyebrows of Doom.

The young man visibly quailed. 

“Alpha Hale,” he stammered. “How may I help you?”

Derek held out his hand and Stiles slapped a piece of paper in it—namely, the form that listed his name, proclaiming ACCESS DENIED.

Derek pitched his voice to carry around the rotunda.

“You can start,” he boomed at the young man, holding up the paper, “by explaining what the _HELL_ is the meaning of _THIS_.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Holy shit!” Derek peeled away from the curb, as fast as he could in LA traffic. “Holy shit! I can’t believe we pulled that off!” He glanced over at Stiles. “Can you believe we pulled that off?”

Stiles looked smug. Then his eyes widened in panic and he gestured frantically at the road. A diesel truck surged in front of the Camaro, honking. Derek shifted gears, skirted around the truck with ease, and blew through a yellow light, clenching and unclenching his hands on the steering wheel. 

“I lied,” he said, grinning exultantly. “I lied!” He paused, thinking. “Or, well, maybe I didn’t lie _directly_ , but I seriously misrepresented the truth, right? Right?”

Again, he glanced over at Stiles, who nodded encouragingly while bracing one hand on the roof of the Camaro, the other against the dashboard, and both feet against the floor.

Derek frowned. “Am I going too fast?”

Stiles nodded, then flailed as another passing car honked.

“Sorry!” Derek slowed down. “I guess I’m just a little keyed up,” he admitted. 

He glanced in the rear view mirror, reminding himself that it was unlikely he’d see a posse of librarians in pursuit. Far more likely, he’d get pulled over for speeding. He slowed the car even more and obediently pulled to a stop at the next yellow light, going over the encounter in the Werchives in his mind.

_The spindly archivist had reminded Derek of his annoying, erstwhile assistant, Adrian Harris, which made it even easier to come down hard on him._

_“What is the meaning of this?” Derek demanded, thrusting the paper in the man’s face. “Can you explain to me why my research assistant has been denied access to this archive?”_

_The man took the paper in shaking hands and peered at it through narrow-rimmed glasses. “Alpha Hale,” he stammered. “This decision appears to be handed down from the Council, not from us—“_

_“The Council? The **Council**?” Derek raised his voice even more, causing a few patrons to look over at them, frowning at the disruption in the hallowed quiet of the hall. The librarian sank further behind his desk, ducking his head in embarrassment. _

_“You’re asking me to believe,” Derek continued loudly, “that the Werewolf High Council is denying a member of **my personal pack** access to the archives that **my** grandfather helped establish? Is that what you’re asking me to believe, Beta…” He grabbed archivist’s nameplate on the desk and read his name in a booming voice. “Charles Conrad?” _

_Conrad’s eyes widened in panic. “No, Alpha, of course not!” Trying to avoid Derek’s glare, he looked desperately at Stiles, who smirked and sketched a wave. Then he casually tilted his head to one side and gave an exaggerated stretch so the mark on his neck was visible._

_Conrad’s eyes narrowed. Derek could see him trying to work through his confusion. Stiles didn’t smell like a wolf—he smelled human—but also reeked of an Alpha and clearly bore his mark on his neck._

_“Hey!” Derek snapped the nameplate in two between his fingers, and Conrad jumped in alarm. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Derek bellowed, his voice echoing around the rotunda._

_At the sound, the uniformed security guard, a burly Beta, glanced over from his position by the main door. He looked questioningly at Derek and took a step toward him. Derek held up a hand, forestalling him. The Beta bowed his head in obedience and stepped back into position._

_Derek turned back to Conrad, who had watched the entire exchange with alarm, and held up the paper. “This is a mistake,” he said firmly, lowering his voice. “Yes?”_

_Conrad’s voice quaked. “Yes, Alpha.”_

_“One that you’re going to rectify immediately. And I mean right here, right now. Correct?”_

_Beads of sweat broke out on the young man’s pale, high forehead. “Yes, of course, Alpha.”_

_“Good,” Derek said briskly. “My assistant will confirm when the task is completed.” He handed the paper to Conrad, then leaned against the desk, pulled out his cell, and pretended to study his email. Stiles swaggered around the desk and leaned over Conrad’s shoulder as the man tapped his computer keyboard, entering Stile’s official Hale Clan identification number._

_Stiles watched the computer screen closely, following Conrad’s work with ease. Derek knew he’d be able to recreate the steps later if need be. Conrad hesitated, and Stiles nudged his shoulder._

_“I can’t!” he hissed at Stiles when he nudged him again._

_“Problem?” Derek asked mildly without looking up from his cell._

_“No, Alpha Hale. It’s just…”_

_Derek scowled down at the man and raised a menaching eyebrow. “Yes?”_

_“Sir, the form.” Conrad clutched the paper with sweaty fingers. “We usually don’t grant access to Omegas, and even Betas are restricted to the more general archives. Only Alphas are allowed access to the entirety of the collection.”_

_“Perhaps I was unclear,” Derek said, keeping his tone mild. “You are not granting access to an Omega. You are granting access to **me**.”_

_Conrad’s eyes widened behind his skinny glasses. “I’m sorry, Alpha, I don’t understand—”_

_Derek raised a finger, and Conrad sputtered into silence. “I am in the middle of an important case for my father’s firm,” Derek explained gently. “A case that requires research. Research that is crucial to the outcome of the case. Research that I personally do not have time to conduct. Or perhaps you think that is how I should be spending my valuable time. Is that how you think I should be spending my valuable time, Beta?”_

_“No, Alpha, of course not.”_

_Derek held up cell phone. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I call my father and ask **him** to take time out from **his** busy schedule so you can explain to him why his request has been denied. Shall I do that?”_

_Conrad looked like he might faint--or throw up. “No, Alpha. I’ll complete the request immediately.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, ending with a final tap on the ENTER key. He and Stiles watched the screen for a few seconds, until there was a beep of confirmation from the computer. Stiles looked up Derek and nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth._

_“Excellent,” Derek purred. “Thank you so much for your assistance in this manner, Beta Conrad. You!” He snapped his fingers at to Stiles. “Follow me.”_

_Derek turned and walked away without looking back, although his shoulder muscles tightened with the effort. He half-expected someone to shout after him, or grab Stiles and restrain him._

_When Derek reached the massive doors of the main room, he stopped, waiting. The guard leapt forward and opened the door, straightening his shoulders until he stood at attention._

_Without looking at him, Derek swept through the doorway, head high, then strode down the broad main staircase that led to the discreet street-level entrance. Stiles followed, two steps behind. When they reached the foot of the massive stairway, he darted forward, as the guard had done, and opened the street door for Derek._

_Outside, the noise of the city and the brightness of the sun were an assault on Derek’s senses after the cool, dark quiet of the archive, and he could feel a headache starting behind his eyes. He slipped on his sunglasses, forcing himself to stroll toward the Camaro when every cell in his body was screaming at him to sprint. Stiles caught up with him at the car, and they climbed inside and sped away._

_The entire operation had taken less than five minutes._

Stiles tapped Derek’s shoulder, and he realized the light had turned green. He pulled forward, heaving a sigh. Now that the rush of adrenaline was fading, he found he just wanted to get out of the city as fast as he could, back to the cool, quiet forests of Beacon Hills.

“One more stop,” he told Stiles, “then we pick up the girls and get the hell out of here.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

Derek sighed again and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. 

“Home,” he answered grimly. “Home.”

***

When Derek pulled up at the enormous Tudor-style mansion, Stiles gaped at it, then turned and stared at Derek, eyes wide.

“Yeah, I grew up here,” Derek said.

Stiles waved his hand in front of his chest, looking impressed, then wiggled his pinky finger.

“Yeah,” Derek said tiredly. “Swanky. I really only like the beach house,” he admitted. “It’s quiet there. Private.”

 _Beach house_ , Stiles repeated, silently mouthing the words. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek admitted. “I know I sound obnoxious. Come on,” he ordered as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

Stiles hesitated.

“My parents aren’t home,” Derek told him. “My dad’s at work and my mom has her garden club. It’ll be okay,” he added when Stiles hesitated again.

Stiles reluctantly unbuckled his seatbelt and followed in Derek’s wake as he strode up the front steps. Inside the house, he followed close on Derek’s heels, occasionally tripping over his own feet as he stared around him in awe at the soaring ceilings, ornately carved wood, and priceless antiques and artwork.

Looking at the home from Stiles’ perspective, Derek felt a little abashed at everything he had taken for granted. Fortunately, his own room was relatively modest. It was located at the back of the mansion and therefore quiet, with a peaceful view through the mullioned windows of the gardens and the ocean beyond. The walls were painted a serene blue, with a matching bedspread in a simple woven design.

Derek’s desk stood against one wall, flanked by bookshelves, all built from the same dark, heavy wood as most of the furnishings in the home. Besides his childhood books, the shelves housed a few of his favorite toys, including a worn stuffed dog, a battered baseball glove, and his entire collection of action figures from the _Wolf Wars_ movies.

Derek blushed when he saw them. “I moved out when I went to college,” he explained quickly, “and then I got my own place. So this is all…” He waved his hand vaguely at the shelves. “Kid stuff.”

But Stiles didn’t seem judgmental or teasing, just curious. He peered at the family photos pinned on the corkboard above the desk, then pointed at one. 

“Yeah, that’s my family,” Derek answered.

Stiles reached for the photo, then snatched his hand back and looked at Derek, shame-faced.

“It’s okay,” Derek said. “Here.” He unpinned several photos and sat down on the bed. After a moment, Stiles sat beside him.

“These are my parents, on their wedding day.” Derek held up the picture. His father looked even stiffer than usual in his tuxedo, his mother as elegant as ever in her traditional red gown and glittering collar. Stiles studied the photo carefully, then smiled tentatively at Derek. His eyes went to the next photo in the stack and widened comically.

“Oh, God,” Derek groaned. “That’s me at 13. Look at that hair. I practically had a mullet.” The Derek in the photo glowered at the world from under beetled eyebrows he’d yet to grow into. He hadn’t grown into his feet or hands or frame, either, Derek mused, nor his hated school uniform. Derek quickly turned the photo over and reached for the next one.

“That’s Laura,” he explained. “My sister. That’s her and Marcus at Wolftillion.” Marcus was a tall, gangly young man with dark skin and a serious face. The sleeves of his pin-striped suit were a little short, and his bony wrists and hands stuck out, making them seem too large for his body.

“Laura hated that dress,” Derek laughed, pointing to her stiff, layered gown. “She said it made her look like she was wearing a lampshade.”

Stiles snorted softly and gave his lopsided smile. Derek pulled the next photo and paused.

“That’s, uh…that’s Kate,” he said. “We took this at Santa Monica, in one of those photos booths, you know? That’s why our eyes are all flashy. There are special cameras for werewolves,” he explained. “The human ones don’t work on us.”

Derek frowned at the photo strip. It was taken the summer before college, he remembered, when he and Kate had spent practically every day at the beach. They had no responsibilities then, he realized, no expectations—just freedom and fun. 

In the series of pictures, Kate sat on his lap, their arms wrapped around each other, and they both wore stupid, goofy grins. Kate had her hair in pigtails, and Derek was proudly growing a goatee, until Laura shamed him into shaving it off. In the last photo, he and Kate were kissing, eyes closed so there was no glare. Because of it, it was the only clear image in the sequence.

Stiles softly nudged Derek’s knee with his own, and Derek forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “It just seems like a long time ago.”

Stiles hesitated, then grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. He opened it and pulled out a photo. He hesitated again, holding it carefully in his hand, then passed it to Derek.

The picture was torn in one corner, charred in another, and worn all over from much handling. It showed Stiles with two people who were clearly his parents. The little family was seated on the back steps of a small, white, wooden house with a picket fence and an overgrown garden.

Stiles’ mother had long auburn hair, a snub nose, and eyes the same unusual amber color as Stiles’, eyes that danced with the same intelligence and humor. She held Stiles on her lap, his limbs sprawling as if she’d managed to catch him in mid-run, swooping her hyperactive offspring into her arms only long enough to snap a photo before he escaped and ran free again. Stiles looked about six or seven years old and proudly beamed at the camera through two missing front teeth.

Stiles’ dad was in his sheriff’s uniform, a handsome man with a creased, care-worn face and kind blue eyes. He was seated one step higher than his wife, encasing her and Stiles within his long legs, his arms wrapped protectively and lovingly around both of them. 

The entire family looked ridiculously happy, relaxed, and full of life.

“It’s a nice picture,” Derek said, realizing he’d been silent for a long time while he studied the photo. “You look like both of them,” he told Stiles.

Stiles blushed, pleased but shy, and his hands fluttered.

Derek turned the photo over. There was more charring on the back and someone had written “The Stilinskis” in pencil.

“Did Deaton take this?” Derek asked. “He said he knew your parents,” he explained. 

Stiles shrugged, then tenderly took the photo from Derek’s fingers and reverently tucked it back in his wallet. 

“Thanks for showing it to me,” Derek said. 

Stiles ducked his head, shy again, but nodded. He put his wallet away and pulled out his phone. But his fingers hesitated over the keys, as if he wasn’t sure what to say, and he ended up rubbing his thumb absently over the screen.

Derek found himself staring intently at Stiles’ fingers, remembering their touch on his neck, gentle but sure, as Stiles tied his tie for him, their firm brush against his chest as he straightened his shirt. He remembered the feel of Stiles’ skin under his own fingers when he touched his mark, their mingled smells as Derek scented along his neck. 

Derek’s suit suddenly seemed too tight in several places.

Stiles glanced shyly at Derek again. Then he slowly turned his hand over, resting it on his thigh. 

Just as slowly, Derek reached over and intertwined their fingers. With his thumb, he delicately stroked the skin of Stile’s palm. Stiles closed his eyes, shivering.

“Derek Hale!” A woman’s voice broke the silence and shattered the delicate mood. “What are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m on tumblr now. I mostly tag along with this amazing fandom, following other blogs, but I can post when there are updates of the story, if that would help. Find me at www.tumblr.com/blog/truebeliever88


	23. Chapter 23

Startled, Derek leapt to his feet.

A half-second later he relaxed, as his body recognized a scent and a presence as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

“Ommie!” He stepped forward and swept Margery into his arms, plucking the tiny Omega off the floor in an enormous hug.

“Derek,” Margery said warmly as she hugged him back. When he put her down, she held him at arm’s length, studying him proudly. “I swear you’ve gotten taller.”

Derek straightened. “I think I have. Look, my suits don’t fit me anymore.” He flexed his shoulders, and the sleeves of his jacket rode up.

Margery briskly adjusted the jacket, assessing the fit with a practiced eye. “I’ll let them out for you. But why didn’t you say you were coming? Your parents aren’t home.” 

Derek ran a finger under his shirt collar. “Oh. They aren’t?”

Margery’s kind, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Little Wolf,” she said sternly, “what are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Derek said, trying not to squirm under her gaze.

Margery put her hands on her hips, over her starched white apron. “Derek Hale, you are up to no good.”

“I’m not!” Derek insisted. “I’m here on pack business.” He puffed up his chest a little at the term.

Margery immediately dropped her gaze. “Oh. Well, in that case, Alpha—“

“No, no, not like that!” Derek ran a hand through his hair, feeling like a complete heel. “It’s just…something I haven’t discussed with my parents yet. But it’s nothing bad, I swear.”

“Hmm.” Margery studied his face closely until she seemed satisfied with his explanation. Then her eyes went to Stiles, who had been watching the exchange with his mouth hanging open. “Good day to you, stranger,” she said politely.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a guppy, then looked at Derek in panic.

Derek put his hand on Margery’s shoulder. “Stiles, this is my Omm—“ 

He broke off, blushing. “I mean, this is Margery. She raised me from a pup. Margery, this is Stiles, my—“ 

He broke off again, blinking. “A member of my pack,” he concluded.

“It’s very nice to meet you, young man.” Margery extended her hand, delicate but strong from years of work.

Stiles’ eyes widened further. He nervously wiped both hands on the seat of his jeans, then tentatively shook Margery’s hand, bobbing his head in greeting and snatching his hand away as soon as politeness allowed.

Margery studied Stiles a second longer, her eyes shrewd. Then she turned to Derek, folding her hands primly at her waist. “Will you be staying for dinner, Alpha?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek said, hating to disappoint her. “We have to pick up two other pack members and head home…I mean, back to Beacon Hills.”

Margery tilted her head. “Surely you’ll let me make you a little lunch before you go.” It was a statement, not a question. 

Derek gave in. “Of course,” he said. “We’d love that, wouldn’t we, Stiles?”

Stiles nodded enthusiastically.

“We just need to pack up some books,” Derek told Margery. “I’m bringing some of my old textbooks to the pack. I thought they might help with their shift, since they’re…” He hesitated, not sure how much Margery knew of Peter’s pack.

“Bitten,” she said calmly.

Derek shook his head. He should have known: Nothing that happened in the Hale household escaped Margery’s keen eye.

“Peter didn’t teach them anything,” he explained. 

Margery’s lips tightened. “I’m not surprised.”

“The online courses are too advanced and don’t cover the basic techniques,” Derek continued. “So I thought the books might help.”

Margery beamed proudly at him. “Well, aren’t you clever?” She turned to Stiles. “He always was a clever boy.”

“Ommie,” Derek groaned, blushing in embarrassment.

“Well, it’s true!” she insisted. She patted Derek’s arm. “Come downstairs when you’re done, and I’ll make you boys some lunch.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Derek said.

Margery swept out of the room. Derek turned to Stiles, who grinned at him impishly.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone else in the Pack,” he warned. “I mean it!”

Stiles’ grin grew.

“Oh, shut up!” Derek said.

Margery embarrassed Derek further at lunch, which was held, to his relief, in the (admittedly enormous) kitchen rather than the formal dining room. She insisted on telling stories from his childhood, which Stiles listened to eagerly. She plied Stiles with food, as well, commenting that he was too thin.

Before the meal, she had sent Stiles to the restroom with the firm instructions to wash up. When he left the room, her eyes went to Derek.

“Yes,” he said. “He’s human.”

Margery rolled her eyes. “I’m not a simpleton, Derek Hale. Of course he’s human. But why doesn’t he speak?”

“Stiles hasn’t said a word since his parents were murdered,” Derek explained. 

Margery’s eyes softened. “How long has it been?” 

“Three years, I think,” Derek said.

Margery nodded calmly. “Not long, then,” she said. “Give him time.” Her brow creased in concern. “But he’s thin,” she said. “And seems unwell. He smells…” She paused, trying to find the right word. “Bruised.”

“I know,” Derek said miserably.

“Is he ill?”

“I think so,” Derek said. “But the doctors can’t find anything wrong with him.”

Margery sniffed. “Human doctors,” she said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. She reached up and patted Derek’s cheek. “Don’t worry, little one. You’ll figure it out.”

After lunch, Margery packed leftovers, snacks, and drinks into a canvas bag, despite Derek’s protests that she didn’t need to. 

“This one needs to eat more,” she said, nodding at Stiles. “Shall I write down that soda bread recipe for you?” she asked him. “It goes well with lamb stew.”

Stiles nodded and pulled his notebook. Derek tried not to twitch with impatience as Margery slowly wrote out instructions in a careful hand. She and Stiles sat with their heads close together, and Derek saw the moment when Stiles caught sight of the livid scar that ran down the back of Margery’s neck, the one usually hidden beneath her neat, coiled braid of thick dark hair.

Stiles looked up at Derek, eyes stricken. Derek frowned and gave a tiny shake of his head.

Stiles immediately dropped his eyes and pointed to something in the recipe.

“It’s an approximate temperature,” Margery explained, “because I don’t know what your oven is like. Some run hot, some run cold. You should experiment and see what works for you.”

Stiles nodded, then gestured for the pen. Whatever he wrote made Margery smile warmly.

“Of course you may write to me, Stiles. I’d like to hear how it goes.”

Stiles beamed back at her, his eyes unguarded, and Derek was reminded of his childhood photo. Margery seemed equally smitten, cupping his face in her hands.

“You’re a good boy,” she told him. “But poor Derek has been dying to leave these last twenty minutes.” 

Derek blushed. “I’m not…it’s just…”

Margery rose. “I know, I know, you have important Alpha business to attend to.” Her voice was teasing, but proud. “This one has always been impatient,” she told Stiles as she wrapped her arms around Derek.

“Ommie, stop it,” he groaned, even as he hugged her close and kissed the top of her head.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she told him as she stepped back.

“I won’t, I promise.”

“And call your mother. She worries.”

“Oh, my God.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Fine, I will.”

He turned and stalked through the halls to the main foyer. Stiles followed, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. They stopped to gather up the books Derek had chosen, and Derek walked across the room to the front door to get a clearer signal on his cell. 

“We’re on our way,” he told Allison when she picked up. “We’ll be there in twenty, so be ready.”

“The Alpha must be obeyed,” she chirped cheerfully. “By the way, what color are your eyes?”

“What color are my _eyes_?” Derek asked. “Why do you need to know that?”

“Lydia’s picking out a tie for you. She wants to know if they’re bluish-green or greenish-blue or more of a grey-green-blue.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Derek said in exasperation. “I don’t know.”

“Men,” Allison sighed. “You’re useless. Never mind, we’ll text Stiles. See you in twenty!”

She hung up. Derek did the same, shaking his head. There was a sudden pricking sensation on the back of his neck, like delicate claws scratching, and his senses were flooded with a familiar, heady scent.

The door opened, and Kate entered, carrying a potted plant.

“Derek!” She stared at him in shock. “What are you doing here?” A frown appeared between her perfect brows. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town?”

Panic dulled Derek’s mind. His mouth hung open as he tried to formulate words, and he knew he looked like a complete idiot. Helpless, he looked across the room at Stiles, who stood behind Kate’s back.

Stiles spread his arms wide. “Surprise!” he mouthed.

Derek turned to Kate, spread his arms wide, and gave her his most dazzling smile. “Surprise!” he said.


	24. Chapter 24

Derek stepped forward and kissed Kate on the lips, wincing when the slender orchid she carried poked him in the eye.

“Are you surprised?” he asked, stepping back.

“I am,” Kate stammered.

Then she frowned.

Leaned toward Derek.

Delicately sniffed the air.

Raised her head in the air and sniffed again.

Time seemed to slide into an agony of slow motion as Kate… 

…slowly…

…slowly… 

…ever so slowly… 

…turned her head and looked at Stiles.

Her nostrils flared.

Her teeth appeared.

A low vibration, so low even Derek’s senses could barely make it out, started in the back of Kate’s throat, finally emerging as a deep, terrifying growl.

Stiles plastered himself against the wall, and his big eyes widened. He looked like a deer in headlights—a tiny, delicate, baby deer, a vulnerable fawn with huge, dark, moist Bambi eyes and a pale, slender throat that could be snapped like a twig.

That’s when Derek remembered Stiles was still wearing his T-shirt.

He felt his own protective growl start deep in his chest. His muscles tightened and his vision went red, while the very tips of his fangs and the very points of his claws pricked the very surface of his skin.

The situation would have come to blood, but Margery suddenly materialized in her mysterious way.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said calmly, walking in front of Stiles. “Miss Kate, how lovely to see you. May I offer you something? A cool drink, perhaps?”

Kate blinked. Derek blinked. The moment broke.

Kate was the first to speak. “No, thank you, Margery,” she said. She was still looking in puzzlement at Stiles, but managed to smile politely.

Margery turned to Derek, her hands clasped at her waist. “Alpha Hale, I apologize. I thought your plan was to surprise Miss Kate at the club. Otherwise I would have prepared a proper welcome for her.”

Derek cleared his throat, his mind racing. “That’s quite all right, Margery. Miss Kate surprised me instead.”

Kate looked flustered. “I was just dropping by with a plant for your mother.”

“Oh, how kind of you. I’ll just put it in the solarium, shall I?” Margery stepped forward smoothly and took the orchid. At the same time, she passed Derek the canvas bag of provisions. “Here is the picnic you asked me to prepare for you and Miss Kate. Shall I have the limo brought ‘round?” 

Derek resisted the urge to fall at Margery’s feet and weep with gratitude. “No, I think a day like today calls for something sportier,” he said. “A classic car where we can roll the top down.” He turned to Kate. “I thought we could drive the coast, perhaps to the Palisades. Would you like that?”

“Oh.” Kate’s eyes softened, and her hand went to her hair. “I was headed for the gym. I’m not dressed for anything.”

“Don’t be silly,” Derek said, secure in the knowledge that, for the first time in the conversation, he was being entirely honest. “You look gorgeous as usual.” 

“I’ll make the arrangements immediately, then,” Margery said, sounding pleased. She turned and briskly snapped her fingers at Stiles. “You! Boy!” she said, her voice turning cold. “Gather up those books and be quick about it!” She strode down the hallway toward the back of the house.

Stiles leapt to obey, dropping half the books in his attempt. Derek cringed as they thumped loudly to the floor, the sound echoing in the soaring ceiling of the foyer. After about thirty seconds of flailing and more dropping, Stiles managed to gather the books into a tall, tottering stack in his arms, holding them in place with his chin, then turned to follow Margery.

“Stiles!” Derek barked.

Stiles froze, the whites of his eyes showing in panic.

Derek pulled the keys from the Camaro from his pocket and set them on top of the books. “Go pick up the…” He paused, not wanting to say _girls_ in front of Kate. “The other pack members,” he said. “Then drive them straight home. Do you understand me?” Derek added, shooting Stiles his most ferocious glare. “No side trips, no trouble. Drive straight home and stay there.”

Stiles nodded frantically. Then, because his hands were full of books, he picked up Derek’s leather key ring with his teeth and hurried out of the room. Thirty seconds later there was another crash as he dropped the books again.

“So that was one of your pack,” Kate said, sounding relieved.

“Peter’s pack,” Derek said brusquely. “I just inherited them.”

Kate gave a throaty laugh, winding her arms around Derek’s neck. “I guess it’s true what they say, then,” she said. “You just can’t get good Omegas these days.”

***

Derek couldn’t help worrying, even as he sat on the beach with his arms around Kate, the breeze whipping her hair into his face. Stiles was an okay driver, especially by teenage boy standards, and he knew how to work a stick shift. Lydia and Allison were with him, and, being girls, were years ahead in maturity and responsibility. They had his credit card in case they needed to stop for gas. And if, God forbid, the Camaro broke down, his WAAA (Were-American Automobile Association) membership card was in the glove compartment. All the teens had cell phones and Jackson and Boyd had cars, so they could pick the others up if they were stranded by the side of the road. Surely, someone would call Derek if anything went wrong. Although he should have insisted that Stiles texted and checked in periodically. On the other hand, Derek reasoned, Stiles was religious about not texting while driving, especially with his fellow humans in the car. Although Lydia and Allison could text just fine from the passenger seat. Did it not occur to any of them that their Alpha might be worried and need a little reassurance? Did anyone possess any common courtesy these days, or was that a thing of the past? Did anyone actually _care_ —

“Claw for your thoughts,” Kate said.

Derek blinked. “Sorry?”

“You were growling,” she said, settling back into Derek’s arms and digging her bare toes in the warm sand. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “Sometimes I think about work and it stresses me out.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, Derek reasoned. “Do you ever think about the summer after our senior year, when we used to come here all the time?” he asked impulsively, tucking a flying strand of her honey-blonde hair behind Kate’s ear.

“Of course,” Kate answered. “That was a great summer. I worked on my tan and you worked on your car.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Derek tightened his arms around Kate. “Sometimes I miss those days. Don’t you?”

“What would be the point?” Kate asked. “Those days are gone, and they’re never coming back. We’re not pups anymore, Derek. We’re adults now and we have adult responsibilities.”

Derek sighed and rested his chin on Kate’s shoulder. “You and Laura,” he grumped. “You’re both so practical.”

“Someone has to be,” Kate reasoned. She turned and smiled at Derek, her dark eyes crinkling at the edge, then stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “We can’t all be dreamers, Derek Hale.” 

***

Later that night, in the darkness of the beach house, she paused in their lovemaking, nuzzling Derek’s throat. “You smell different,” she whispered against his skin.

“No, I don’t,” Derek replied gruffly. His head was spinning with the pull of the moon and a six-pack of beer. He focused on the feel of Kate’s curves under his hands, the weight of her hair, the sound of the ocean surf pounding outside like the blood pounding under his skin. 

“Yes, you do,” Kate insisted. “You smell wrong, like strangers.”

“I smell like my pack,” Derek snarled. “Get used to it.” He grabbed Kate around her waist, flipped her on her back, and pinned her arms above her head. Kate growled in approval, arching her back as he sank into her depths.

“Derek.” Her voice grew husky as he pounded into her, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. “God, Derek.” Kate’s fingers lengthened into claws, and her canines elongated. 

“No.” Derek shook his head, trying to clear it, even as his body went into overdrive, pounding harder and harder. 

Kate opened her eyes, which were turning yellow. “What?” she gasped. 

Derek couldn’t breathe. His arms shook uncontrollably. Beads of sweat ran into his eyes, filling them like tears, making them sting. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was hoarse and wrecked.

“No. Please. Don’t shift.”

Kate stared up at him. “Why not?”

Derek shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

“Derek.” Kate’s voice was shocked, scandalized. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” Derek shook his head again, his hips still moving relentlessly. “I’m sorry,“ he gasped. “Just…God, please!” he begged. “I’m so close. God, I’m so close!” Derek dropped his head between his shaking arms.” Please!” he begged again. “Don’t shift!”

“Shhh, Derek.” Kate slipped from his grasp and gathered him close, wrapping her arms around him. The yellow faded from her eyes, and her claws and fangs retracted. “It’s okay. We’ll finish like this.”

“Are you sure?” Derek almost sobbed with gratitude and relief.

“Of course,” Kate murmured. “It’s okay, baby, I don’t mind.” Her hands stroked his back, his hair, her touch soothing and gentle. “It’s okay, Derek. Just come. Just> come like this. I won’t tell anyone.”

Derek opened his eyes, desperately looking into Kate’s. “You swear?”

Kate nodded. “I swear,” she whispered.

“Oh, _God_!” With one final, shuddering thrust, Derek came, burying his face in Kate’s neck and howling his shame and release into night.

***

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered afterward as he collapsed on top of Kate, his head resting between her breasts.

His own chest ached like he’d been shot through the heart. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

The ache grow worse, even as he felt himself tumbling into the endless abyss of sleep.

“I’m so sorry.”


	25. Chapter 25

Derek opened his eyes to the glare of the sun off the ocean. He could smell the salty sea air and, even in the daylight, feel the moon dropping from the sky, pulling his madness with it and leaving him clear-headed, distressingly sober, and painfully aware of the ache in his head, as sharp a railroad spike through his temple.

“Oh, crap,” he whimpered, and closed his eyes. 

He realized belatedly that he was lying face down and — for some unknown reason — sideways across the bed. He could feel a cool breeze on his bare back, which meant the sliding doors were open on the ocean side of the house. 

Derek cautiously broadened the reach of his senses, hoping and praying he was alone. Fortunately, the landward side of the house was built like a fortress to protect the inhabitants from prying eyes. Anyone who approached by the road would only see a long, narrow, flat-roofed house, built from heavy beams of dark wood buttressed by stone.

Inside, however, the house was open and airy, composed of two huge rooms running the length of the site and ending in a deck that looked out on the Pacific. Wooden steps led down from the deck to the beach, where a smaller deck boasting a copper fire ring crouched amidst the boulders. (Even the most determined of photographers would hesitate to risk their life in a boat near that rocky shore.)

The main room included an open kitchen and living area dominated by a stone fireplace. The furnishings were minimal, if not downright Spartan. They included a bar, a large leather couch, and a coffee table made from wood salvaged from the decking of an old ship, a not-so-subtle reminder that the Hales had made their fortune in overseas trade — no small feat for a species who traditionally feared and avoided open water in favor of the solitude and safety of the deep woods.

The bedroom was even more sparsely furnished, featuring a large, low bed of hand-carved teak draped in gauzy white fabric. Similar swaths of fabric hung in front of the floor-to-ceiling sliding doors, rippling gently in the breeze. The effect was Zen-like and calming, and in his private moments, Derek secretly thought of the place as his Den of Solitude, like in the _SuperWolf_ comics.

Unfortunately, at this moment, the room seemed to be tilting unpleasantly, while the white curtains, stirred by the wind, reached for Derek like grabbing claws.

The bed dipped suddenly, taking Derek’s stomach along with it.

“Morning, lover,” purred a voice. “Or should I say, mid-morning?”

“Oh, crap,” Derek whimpered again. “Stop bouncing the world.”

Kate, artfully draped in a sheet, bounced the bed a few more times before getting comfortable and daintily sipping her cup of coffee. The bitter smell made Derek wince, but also cleared his head a little — which meant that the events of the night before came back in a sudden, shameful rush. 

Derek felt his face burn and tried desperately to think of something to say to make things right. Fortunately, Kate saved him the trouble.

“I never knew you were into kinky shit, Derek,” she giggled, poking him with her foot. “Wait ‘til I tell your sister.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “You wouldn’t. You promised!”

“Big Bad Wolf didn’t want to mount his mate,” Kate sing-songed. “Oooh, here’s an idea,” she added eagerly. “Next time we role-play, can we do Hunter and Wolf?”

Derek raised his head and stared at her, squinting in the bright sunlight. “You’re not mad?” 

Kate burst out laughing. “Of course not!” She set down her coffee cup on the small bedside table, which was carved from a single burl of wood. She rolled toward Derek and stroked the line between his eyebrows with a manicured fingertip. “Look at you, worrying about my virtue,” she crooned. “It’s so cute!”

She folded her arms and rested her chin on them. “Maybe you were sleeping back in health class, love, but everybody gets a little freaky in the den now and again.”

Derek blinked, even though it made his eyelids hurt. “They do?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “God, Derek, you’re such an Ommie’s boy!” She sprawled carelessly amongst the rumpled, snow-white sheets, luxuriously stretching her arms over her head. “Yes, they do, especially when they’re drunk out of their fur. It’s normal.”

The blinding pain in Derek’s head receded a little. “It is?”

Kate laughed her throaty laugh. “Trust me, honey. The things I’ve heard around the modeling industry would make your tail stand on end.”

“So…” Derek paused, still trying to wrap his aching brain around the idea. “You don’t hate me?”

“Aw, baby,” Kate said, petting his face again. “I’m not saying I want to start watching anthro porn, or going to those clubs…” She paused to give a delicate shudder. “But every now and then would be fun. It might even be good for us, get us out of our rut.” 

Derek cautiously rolled on his back — fortunately his stomach stayed in place — and rubbed his eyes, which burned as if from sea-water. “I didn’t realize we were in a rut.”

“A little rut,” Kate conceded, walking her fingers up his chest. “Speaking of which, don’t you think it’s time you marked me?”

Derek turned his head and stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Kate grinned her sharp white grin. “Bite me.”

Derek blinked again. “I bite you all the time.”

Kate rolled her eyes again. “Not for real. Your bites heal,” she explained when Derek continued to stare at her. “I want the kind that doesn’t. Like you did with your pack, only just for me.”

Derek gaped at her. “The Mating Mark? Are you serious?”

Irritated, Kate sat up and reached for her coffee cup. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?” she asked haughtily.

“I can’t give you the Mark before marriage, Kate,” Derek said, shocked and scandalized. 

“God, you’re so old-fashioned!” Kate set down the cup so hard the coffee splashed on the sheets, staining them. She rose, wrapping the sheet more tightly around her and tucking it in over her breasts to secure it. “If you want to get married so badly, you should at least have the decency to collar me,” she added.

Derek sat up, grateful when the room stayed put. “I need more time."

Kate twisted her hair up into a knot, her movements quick and precise with anger. “How much time?”

“God, I don’t know.” Derek scrubbed his face with both hands “My assignment in Beacon Hills is for six months,” he reasoned, for his own sake as much as Kate’s. “It’s hasn’t even been two. And why do we need to be in such a hurry?” he added. “We’re still young.” 

“ _You’re_ young, Derek,” Kate said flatly. “I’m two years older, remember? I’m ready to settle down and breed a family.”

“Well, I’m not!” Derek returned hotly. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, as well, trying to get his anger under control. “Look, I’m sorry. I feel like hell right now. Can we just talk about this later?”

“No.” Kate folded her arms. “Let’s talk about it now. I’m tired of you always putting off the conversation.”

Derek squinted up at Kate through his fingers. “Is this about your family? Are they pressuring you?”

Kate put her hands on her hips. “Of course they’re pressuring me, Derek! Just like your family is pressuring you!” She broke off, reining in her temper, then sat on the bed. “We’re not pups anymore, Derek,” she said gently, her face and voice softening. “I know you’re scared, and so am I.” She took Derek’s hand and squeezed it. 

Derek stared numbly down at their joined hands.

_Stiles glanced shyly at Derek again. Then he slowly turned his hand over, resting it on his thigh._

_Just as slowly, Derek reached over and intertwined their fingers. With his thumb, he delicately stroked the skin of Stile’s palm. Stiles closed his eyes, shivering._

“—but I think we’re ready. I really think we can make this work. Derek?” Kate’s voice sharpened again. “Are you even listening to me?” 

Derek looked at Kate, startled. “What did you say?”

Kate frowned. “I said we can make this work, unless...” She hesitated, her eyes widening. “Have you met someone else?”

“No!” Now it was Derek’s turn to rise and pace the room. “No, of course not!”

Kate looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. “Look, if it’s one of your Betas…I know that can happen. I would understand.“ For a moment, her brittle façade crumbled, and Derek could see the vulnerability beneath it. 

Swearing, Derek snatched his dress pants off the floor and dragged them on. “Listen to me, Kate,” he said, zipping up. “I am not interested in any of my Betas.”

Kate looked up at him, her dark eyes wide. “Do you swear?”

“I swear,” Derek said, placing a hand on his bare chest. “Listen to my heartbeat.”

Kate paused, listening. Then she nodded. Her hand crept up and wiped a tear from her check, her rings flashing in the sunlight. She sat up straighter, and her voice became businesslike. “Okay. But just to be clear, even if you were, the contract still applies.”

Derek dragged both hands through his hair again. “Christ, Kate. Is that all that marriage means to you? A contract?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Derek Hale,” she snapped, standing. “Do you think I don’t know how the world works? My father had his favorite Beta and a dozen Omegas on the side to boot, but none of that affected my mother’s status. And I don’t appreciate being treated like some sort of meatdigger simply because I’m ready to honor the terms of our families’ agreement.”

Derek’s temper rose again. “And I don’t appreciate being manipulated!” 

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t be coy, Kate,” Derek said through his teeth. “It really doesn’t suit you.”

Kate folded her arms, and her chin got a stubborn tilt to it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said icily

“The hell you don’t!” Derek stepped closer. “Do you think I haven’t seen those stories on the gossip sites?”

Kate sniffed derisively. “I have no control over what those people write about—"

“Bullshit! I know you planted those stories to pressure me. ‘Those in the know say Kate was disappointed when Derek didn’t propose during a romantic beachside stroll,’” Derek quoted sarcastically.

Kate looked away, blushing. Then she looked back at Derek, tears in her eyes, the color high in her cheeks. “I think this conversation is over,” she said, her voice trembling. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a shower and put my makeup on. I prefer the luparazzi not photograph me when I’ve obviously been crying.” She gathered the sheets — and her dignity — around her, then walked toward the luxurious master bathroom, hidden behind frosted glass walls.

“Fine!” Derek snapped. “Say hello to your friend Minxy Brown for me!” 

Kate stopped, her shoulders tightening. But when she turned back, her face and voice were calm. “I take my responsibility to my family and my clan seriously, Derek,” she said softly. “I thought you did, too.” She swept into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

“Shit!” Derek swore. He looked around for something to throw, but the room didn’t present many possibilities besides physically picking up the massive bed and hurling it through the plate-glass walls.

Instead, Derek got dressed, gradually finding his clothes, shoes, wallet, watch, and phone as he stumbled through the house. He pulled on his shirt and draped his tie around his neck, but didn’t bother with shoes or jacket. By the time he reached the front door, his temper had cooled, replaced by shame.

“Nice going, Hale,” he told himself. “Really delicate work. You’re real Alpha material, buddy.”

He debated drinking an entire pot of coffee to further clear his head, but decided against it. No doubt the luparazzi were lurking outside, and the least he could do for Kate was to draw their fire. The site of Derek Hale staggering out of his ocean retreat, barefoot and disheveled and clearly hung-over, should be enough to keep the gossip sites busy for at least a day or two.

The sun was blazing overhead as Derek trudged wearily to the rental car, where three simultaneous realizations brought him up short.

One was the fact that, since he had driven Kate to the beach house, it was only decent that he offer her a ride home rather than stranding her here with no transportation. If that meant a long, uncomfortable ride back to the city, that was suitable punishment for his behavior.

Second was the fact that there wasn’t a single photographer in sight, nor did Derek smell any intruders.

However, his nose did detect a presence that was part of his third realization: A long limousine with smoked-glass windows was parked next to the rental, a uniformed driver standing at attention next to it. Derek recognized the man as one of his father’s bodyguards — tall, powerful, and not to be fucked with.

The driver touched the bill of his cap respectfully, then opened the door for Derek.

“Alpha Hale,” he said. His voice was emotionless, his face implacable behind mirrored sunglasses. “Your father wishes to have a word with you. Immediately.”


	26. Chapter 26

Hello, Readers!

Sorry for the long wait between chapters. As a special treat, I thought I’d include this link to an article in Elle Décor. It shows a house that looks a lot like I imagine Derek’s beach house would look. Derek’s house is more simple, Spartan, and masculine, but this gives you the general idea  
http://www.elledecor.com/design-decorate/interiors/riding-the-waves-m-elle-design?click=pp#slide-1

***

***

_Cinderstiles - Chapter 26_

Derek hesitated, looking back at the beach house.

“Your father has arranged transportation for Ms. Monroe, as well,” the limo driver stated, his expression never changing.

Derek sighed in resignation. “Fine,” he growled, and climbed in the back seat.

Sure enough, as the limo pulled off the narrow road to the beach house, another was waiting. Derek’s chauffer gave a nod to the other driver as the second vehicle pulled in smoothly. The second limo had smoked glass windows, as did Derek’s, guaranteeing privacy. 

Assuming Kate wanted any privacy, Derek mused sourly. She was probably on the phone with _Wolf Gazette_ even now.

Derek slumped in his seat, picturing the headlines. 

_KEREK REUNITE!_

_BUT LOSER HALE WON’T POP THE QUESTION!_

_GORGEOUS MODEL STILL INEXPLICABLY SINGLE! BOYFRIEND REFUSES TO WOLF UP AND DO THE RIGHT THING!_

Groaning, Derek slumped further in his seat. His clothes were wrinkled, his head ached, his eyes felt gritty, and although he hadn’t looked in a mirror lately, he was sure his hair was completely standing on end. He wished he’d taken the time to shower before leaving the beach house, but that would have meant waiting around until Kate was done and risking another argument. But he could at least have taken a dip in the ocean. Or better yet, drowned himself beneath its waves.

Sighing, Derek pulled out his cell phone to check his office email. Maybe he could fit in a quick lunch with Laura to discuss their current workload. After their father chewed him out, of course.

Derek paused with his thumb on the scroll button of his phone. There was a text from Stiles, sent late the previous night. He opened it, cursing his clumsy fingers, and read:

_Thanx 4 the car. Vegas is the BEST, BABY!_

“Son of a bitch!” Derek swore. The driver glanced up at him. 

“Watch the road,” Derek snarled, then saw he had a second text from Stiles.

 _KIDDING!_ this one read. Then:

_OMIGOD YOUR FACE! Made it home safe, girls are fine, everything OK, don’t worry_

Derek let out a long breath. 

“Son of a bitch,” he said again, this time with fondness.

***

To Derek’s surprise, Margery didn’t greet him when he arrived at the Hale mansion. Instead, another Omega opened the front door. Derek recognized her, but couldn’t recall her name. He knew it was something old-fashioned (Faith? Charity?), befitting her slightly dour appearance. 

Fortunately, the Omega didn’t expect him to speak to her. Instead, she escorted him to the massive oak doors of his father’s study, bowed silently, and left.

Derek quailed for a moment in front of the double doors, then forcibly reminded himself that he was a grown-ass werewolf now, not a pup about to be punished. He squared his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to make it lie flat. He thought about straightening his clothes, then gave it up as a lost cause, stuffed his tie in the pocket of his suit coat, and opened the doors.

Inside the study, his father stood with his back to Derek, hands loosely clasped behind his back, gazing up at the large oil painting that hung above the ornately carved fireplace. 

It was a portrait of Derek’s great-grandfather, Joachim Hale. Derek had been deathly afraid of the painting in childhood, convinced that the figure’s eyes were following him around the room. Even now, Joachim glowered down at him, stern and resplendent in his sea-captain’s uniform and sporting a truly terrifying set of bushy black brows.

Derek cleared his throat. “Father,” he said diffidently. “You wanted to see me?”

“Derek.” Grayson didn’t turn. “Indeed.”

Derek resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. “I thought you taught me never to turn your back to a door,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I wasn’t aware you were listening,” Grayson said, his voice mild.

Derek felt his face grow hot as he blushed furiously. “I was, Sir.”

Grayson turned. His expression was as mild as his voice. “Breakfast?” he asked. “I assume you haven’t eaten,” he added.

Derek blushed again, but sat in the chair his father indicated. The door opened, and the Omega (Felicity? Penelope?) entered, wheeling a cart before her. Derek murmured thanks when she poured him a cup of coffee, but recoiled when she swept the lid off a silver tray, revealing eggs, bacon, and a heaping helping of blood sausage. The smell made Derek’s stomach roil, and he regretted the previous night’s indulgence even more.

Grayson raised a brow in amusement. “Thank you, Grace. That will be all.”

Grace bowed and left the room. Derek peered forlornly at the cart.

“Is there something you require?” Grayson asked.

“Margery’s hangover remedy.” Derek had no idea what was in the concoction—the recipe was a closely guarded secret—but it really did the trick. Derek had learned that the very first time he’d gotten drunk. He’d been a gawky and miserable thirteen-year-old and had (on a dare) generously sampled the ‘bane brandy at Laura’s coming-out party. 

The next morning, Margery knocked briskly on Derek’s bedroom door, held his head as he’d barfed up what felt like half his stomach lining, and handed him a tall glass that smelled like a combination of Tabasco sauce and paint thinner.

“Drink it,” she said sternly, then stood glaring with her hands on her hips until Derek obeyed. The mixture tasted even worse than it smelled, but twenty minutes later Derek felt, if not better, a little less like he wanted to carve out his own innards and die a quick, merciful death.

“Margery has the day off,” Grayson said, bringing Derek back to the present with a start.

Derek stared at his father. “Margery never takes the day off.”

Grayson’s brows came together in a faint frown. “Nevertheless.”

“No, seriously,” Derek argued. “She never—“

“Your mother insisted,” Grayson said, in a tone that forbade any more discussion.

“Oh.” Derek settled back in his chair, trying to balance the delicate china cup and saucer on his lap. For a brief moment, he thought longingly of the kitchen in Beacon Hills, with a morning pot of coffee burbling on the counter and the birds warbling outside.

“Speaking of your mother,” Grayson continued. “You know how she feels about a ruckus.”

Derek blanched. “Yes, Sir.”

“Yet it is my understanding that you caused a considerable ruckus at the Werchives yesterday.”

“Oh, crap.” Derek closed his eyes for a moment. “Sir, I can explain—“

“I'd prefer you didn’t.” 

Derek blinked at his father in surprise. “But I—“

Grayson held up at hand, forestalling him. “It’s called plausible deniability, son. Get to know it. It’s your friend.” He set aside his coffee cup and reached for a blueberry muffin the size of his fist. “This way,” he continued cheerfully, “I can tell your mother without prevarication that you and I discussed the situation, and that you assured me it will never happen again.”

“It won’t,” Derek said fervently.

“Excellent. Now eat.” Grayson settled back in his chair and broke open the muffin. Fragrant steam rose up, and for the first time that morning, Derek’s stomach didn’t rebel at the thought of food. He ate heartily and drank half a pot of coffee while he and his father discussed the latest business deals at Hale.

“Now,” Grayson continued after the breakfast cart had been cleared away. ”How are things with Kate? Any progress in that area?”

“Depends what you mean by progress,” Derek muttered.

“Derek.” Grayson leaned forward. “Your mother and I love you and we’re very proud of you, you know that. All we want for you is your happiness.”

“God, Dad.” Derek put his head in his hands. “Can’t you just give me the lecture instead?”

Grayson ruffled Derek’s hair in a rare show of affection. “You’re too old for lectures, Derek. You’re a grown wolf now, with your own pack. It’s time for you to—"

“Settle down and make babies, I know, Dad.” Derek dragged his hands over his face.

“I know it’s hard,” Grayson said sympathetically. “You’re still young, and it feels like your life is just getting started.” He leaned forward again. “But, Derek, believe me when I say that life is short. We all make sacrifices. And those of us who have been given more in life need to make even more sacrifices, for the good of those who look to us for leadership.”

“I know, Dad.” Derek rested elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands. He thought of his pack, wondering how his marriage to Kate would affect them. He couldn’t imagine Kate being willing to live in Beacon Hills, let alone taking an interest in the teen’s lives. And Derek knew she would insist on raising their children in Los Angeles, in order to send them to the finest schools. The bottom line was, Derek would have to leave his pack to care for his family. 

Granted, that was the original plan. Derek was supposed to spend six months stabilizing the Beacon Hills wolves, then return to LA and corporate/married life. But who would take care of his pack when he was gone? Who else could understand their struggles the way Derek did? 

“What are you thinking?” Grayson asked.

“I don’t know, Dad.” Derek shook his head. “It’s just…you say you want me to be happy, but what if I’m not sure Kate will make me happy? And how can I be sure I’ll make her happy?”

Grayson sighed. “Granted,” he said, “there are certain expectations that go along with marriage, especially in these modern times. Of course, Kate’s happiness would be your first priority. But if you had other…”Grayson hesitated. “Other interests, those could be accommodated as well.”

“Dad!” Derek stared at his father in shock. 

Grayson shrugged. “An Alpha has his privileges,” he said mildly.

“God, that’s exactly what Kate said. She said her father had a dozen Omegas on the side.”

Grayson shrugged again. “It happens. Of course, one is expected to be discreet.”

“But what if that’s not what I want?” Derek rose and paced the floor in frustration. “What if I want a real marriage?” He turned back to his father, pointing at him. “And I know you. You would never have done that to Mom!” He hesitated, doubt creeping in. “Would you?”

Grayson threw back his head and laughed. “Of course not. Your mother is an extraordinary woman, and I’m lucky to have her. Plus, I prefer my testicles right where they are, thank you very much.” Chuckling, he waved at Derek’s chair. “So sit down and stop glowering at me.”

Derek sat, but folded his arms in protest. 

“I was scared, too,” Grayson said, to Derek’s surprise. “Before I was to be married. I had all the same doubts you did, and it was far worse, because I’d only met your mother once, when we were children. You and Kate have had your whole lives to get acquainted.”

“So how did you get…” Derek paused, searching for the right word. “Un-scared?”

“I didn’t,” Grayson said simply. “Until the minute I first saw your mother during the ceremony.”

He rose and walked to his enormous desk, which flanked the windows facing the sea. He took a silver-framed photo off the desk and handed it to Derek. It was the same photo Derek had in his bedroom, of his parents on their wedding day.

“The moment I saw your mother,” Grayson explained, “all my fear vanished, and I knew everything would be all right.”

Derek sighed. “I should go talk to her,” he said. “And apologize for yesterday. Is she home?”

Grayson paused, then took the photo from Derek and placed it back on his desk. “Your mother is resting,” he said. “She has a migraine and can’t be disturbed.”

Derek noticed for the first time that his father sported a few grey streaks in his hair, and his broad shoulders seemed slightly stooped with age and the burdens of responsibility.

“Dad,” Derek said carefully. “Is everything okay?”

Grayson turned, smiling. “Of course.” He stepped closer. “Just do your best, son. That’s all we ask.” He paused. “And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t repeat your uncle’s mistakes.”

Derek rose from his chair, straightening his shoulders. “I won’t, Alpha. I swear.”

***

Derek took the limo to his condo, where he showered and changed into clean clothes. He flung his suit in the general direction of his closet, an act that made him feel inexplicably guilty. He picked up the suit and hung it on a wooden hanger, tossing his shirt in a laundry hamper. Somehow, at the end of every week, the hamper would disappear. The next week, his shirts would return from the dry cleaner, appearing mysteriously in his closet, neatly hung and color-coordinated.

Derek realized with embarrassment that he didn’t even know which of his family’s Omegas collected his laundry, or meticulously cleaned the condo, or restocked the refrigerator once a week. He spent so little time there that he almost never interacted with the staff.

In Beacon Hills, he reflected, he did most of his daily chores himself, except for cooking. The Betas were expected to pick up after themselves, plus there was a weekly, color-coded house-cleaning/cooking schedule on the refrigerator that everyone adhered to. Stiles wouldn’t hesitate to stalk a pack member via text message to ensure the chores were done on time. 

Derek sighed. It was definitely time to go home. He hung his suit coat in the closet. As he did, he brushed against the coat he’d worn on his last disastrous date with Kate, and a small wooden box fell onto the floor.

Derek crouched on the floor and opened the box, knowing what was inside. It was the Hale family collar—not the formal one worn by his mother on her wedding day, but the centuries-old version used in courting ceremonies. It was simple in design and had a pleasing weight, although the small spikes ringing the collar had dulled with use. It was made of platinum, the most durable metal of all, signifying the endurance of the mating bond. 

Derek weighed the collar in his hand for a moment, hearing his father’s voice in his head.

_Just do your best, son. That’s all we ask._

Derek sighed. Then he stuffed the collar in the pocket of his leather jacket, rose, pulled out his cell phone, and arranged for a flight to the airport nearest Beacon Hills. 

Marriage be damned, Derek decided. He needed to check in on his pack. Everything else could wait.


	27. Chapter 27

Derek booked a flight to the nearest airport, about forty-five minutes from Beacon Hills. From there, he rented a car and drove home. 

When he pulled up, he noticed repairs had been completed on the broken windows. He assumed Boyd had been in charge of the process. He was skilled with his hands, to the point of being a perfectionist, and had an affinity for math. He’d recently confided to Derek that he was interested in pursuing structural engineering in college, but would need to take AP math classes to do so. That would mean an extra semester at school, not to mention challenging his teacher’s perceptions of his abilities. 

Derek assured Boyd of his full support, as much as he could given that he needed to stay behind the scenes. Unfortunately, storming into Beacon Hills High School and setting the math department straight wasn’t really an option. 

Fortunately, Boyd’s self-confidence had grown visibly in the past weeks, especially since Derek had named him as his second. He stood taller and carried himself with more assurance. And to Derek’s surprise, Lydia had offered to tutor him.

She’d given a careless shrug when Derek raised his eyebrows.

“What?” she asked airily. “Volunteer hours look good on college applications.”

“Good point,” Derek said, but he wasn’t fooled.

Now, as he parked the rental car, he found himself wondering again what would happen when he returned to LA after his six months were up. Boyd was a senior, but the rest of the pack still had two more years before graduation. They liked to complain about Derek’s interest in their school performance -- particularly when he turned off the X-Box and made them focus on homework -- but he saw it as part of his responsibility as Alpha. Unfortunately, he couldn’t imagine any successor feeling the same emotional investment in the pack’s well-being. If anything, the position would be more administrative than personal, like Laura’s business-like relationship with her Betas.

Derek sighed as he trudged up the front steps. Other than a general smell of “pack” and “home,” he couldn’t catch any individual scents or hear any motion inside the house, nor on the grounds. He experienced a further pang when he entered the house and confirmed it was empty. Then he remembered it was Saturday night, which meant the lacrosse team would be facing the Blue Devils of Martinvale, a rival town about an hour away. A glance at his watch showed the game had already started.

He debated with himself on the way up the stairs to his bedroom. No doubt the entire population of Beacon Hills had decamped for Martinvale to cheer on the home team, so his presence at an away game wouldn’t be considered odd. On the other hand, it was probably wiser to keep a low profile. In addition, it had been a long day and, despite the fact that he had slept on the plane, Derek was still tired from the previous night. 

Then he entered the room and saw several things lying on his bed. 

One, the T-shirt he had lent Stiles, folded neatly with the Camaro keys on top. 

Two, his credit card, carefully paper-clipped to a small stack of receipts. 

And three, a handsome tie of mixed greens and browns, with a note penned in Lydia’s precise handwriting: _Stiles says your eyes are hazel_.

Thirty seconds later, he was in the Camaro and headed for Martinvale.

***

About ten minutes away from the town, he experienced an attack of panic so severe he had to pull over to the side of the road and put his head on the steering wheel until he could breathe again. His hands were still shaking when put the car in drive, and when he got to the playing field, he lurked between the bleachers and anxiously scanned the Beacon Hills players. The logical part of his brain reminded him that if one of his Betas had been hurt, they would heal, although hopefully not on the field in front of a hundred onlookers. Even a mystical glamour couldn’t obscure something that obvious.

The instinctive half of his brain, however, screamed back at the logical part to shut the fuck up because something was _wrong_. He could feel it.

Derek called on his senses and quickly located Scott, Jackson, and Isaac on the field, and Boyd, Erica, Lydia, and Allison in the stands. That only left...

“Stiles,” Derek whispered.

As if hearing him, Stiles turned his head and looked directly at Derek, their eyes meeting through the crowd. Stiles sat hunched on the visiting team bench, looking haggard and breathing into a portable oxygen unit. Melissa McCall sat next to him, her eyes on the field but her hand protectively resting on his shoulder.

Stiles pulled the oxygen mask away from his face and gave Derek a wan smile and a little wave. Melissa noticed the movement and glanced over. When she saw Derek, she gave a subtle jerk of her chin in the direction of the refreshments booth at the far end of the field.

Derek reluctantly tore his eyes away from Stiles and walked over to the booth, which was manned by the Booster Club – somewhat glumly, since the Beacon Hills team was currently kicking Blue Devil ass. Derek bought a cup of coffee and stood sipping it while pretending to watch the game. Melissa bought a bottle of water and joined him a minute later. To anyone watching, they appeared no more than casual acquaintances discussing the progress of the match.

“Stiles took a bad hit and collapsed on the field,” she told Derek, keeping her eyes on the players. “He’s okay,” she added before Derek could panic again. “But he’s pretty shaken up.”

“Who hit him?” Derek asked, trying to stifle a growl.

“Number Twelve.” Melissa nodded toward the opposite bench, where the offending player was currently staring at his coach in utter confusion as the man held up two fingers. “Scott took him out,” she added, managing to sound both disapproving and a little smug.

“Did Stiles just get the wind knocked out of him?” Derek asked anxiously. “Or is this related to...the other thing?” He didn’t know what to call the pervasive sense of illness that Stiles gave off.

Melissa winced at another bone-crunching collision on the field, then shook her head. “I don’t know. He has more tests scheduled for this week, and I’m gonna make damn sure he goes to them.”

Derek realized belatedly that Stiles was scheduled to stay at Melissa’s house during the upcoming week, while Scott would bunk with him. The logical part of his brain realized it was for the best, since Melissa, in her role as Stiles’ legal guardian, could supervise his medical care. The instinctive half of his brain howled in protest at the idea, then curled up with its tail between its legs in a full-on pout.

The next week wasn’t much better. Derek was acutely aware of Stiles’ absence at the house, and not just because he had to cook for himself. He and Melissa had agreed that Stiles needed Scott at home, and had relaxed their rule for the week. Consequently, Scott, Stiles, and Isaac were all at Melissa’s house, while Jackson, Lydia, Boyd, and Erica lived at their families’ homes, per their usual weekday schedule.

It was achingly quiet at the house, and Derek missed his pack on a purely physical level he hadn’t known was possible. It was a relief when Wednesday night rolled around, and he and Boyd attended the arranged summit meeting with the Argents. It gave him a suitable outlet for his frustration. He and Chris Argent basically glared daggers at each other during the entire meeting, which Deaton facilitated with his usual cool finesse. Derek could feel Boyd’s presence at his back, as solid and supportive as a wall. Allison seemed to play a similar role with her father. With their occasional intervention, the meeting ended on relatively good terms, if Chris and Derek’s mutual loathing could be considered ‘good.’

Erica was waiting for Boyd when they got back to the house, comfortably tucked up on the couch under a blanket with a book in her hands. She greeted him with a kiss.

“How’d it go?”

“Piece of cake,” Boyd replied, twirling a strand of her bright hair around his finger. “Speaking of which…” He gestured toward the kitchen.

“Oh, God, yes,” Derek replied. “Whatever you can find.”

He collapsed at the opposite end of the couch and closed his eyes while Boyd rummaged around in the kitchen.

“Sandwiches?” he called out. 

“Yes, please,” Derek replied. “And beer.”

Erica nudged him with her foot. “Wired?”

“Yeah,” Derek admitted. “But exhausted, too. I never met a hunter before. I didn’t like it.” 

He opened his eyes and tipped his head toward Erica. “It took everything I had not to rip Argent’s throat out for the crimes of his ancestors. And I’m sure he felt the same about me. Deaton made him leave all his weapons at the door, and it took like five minutes. The guy had knives _everywhere_.”

He shook off the memory and smiled at Erica. “What are you reading?”

To his surprise, she blushed crimson and shoved the book between the couch cushions. “Nothing. It’s just a kid’s book,” she added. 

“I like kids’ books,” Derek said gently.

Erica peeked at him from under her lush eyelashes, like she was afraid he was teasing her. “I used to read a lot,” she confided, “back when I was sick. I spent a lot of time alone.”

“Me, too. Seriously,” Derek added when Erica cocked her head in disbelief. “I didn’t really get along with other kids, because I had ‘control issues.’” He made air-quotes with his fingers. “And the few kids who did try to befriend with me…well, usually it was because their parents told them to, because my family was rich and powerful. Important. So they should try to cultivate the acquaintance.”

Erica pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. “Sometimes other girls would be nice to me because they felt sorry for me. Or because they thought it would make them look good. Like their parents said, ‘You should be nicer to that poor Reyes girl.’”

“But you could tell, right?” Derek asked.

Erica nodded. “Yeah. It just never felt…”

“Real,” Derek concluded.

“Uh-huh. Somehow, books felt more real, even though they were make-believe.” Erica paused, then dug the book out of the couch cushions. “This one was my favorite.”

Derek leaned forward to read the title. “‘The Jungle Book.’ What’s it about?”

“It’s about a human boy who’s raised by wolves.” Erica blushed again. “When I read it, I would pretend it was me.” 

“Can I see?” 

Erica handed the book over, and Derek flipped through the pages, looking at the illustrations. In one, a human infant, curious and eager rather than fearful, sniffed nose-to-nose with an enormous she-wolf. In the next, the boy cuddled comfortably with the rest of the pups in the pack, with the wolf mother curled protectively around them.

“I looked it up,” Erica said. “A wolf will adopt another mother’s cub if it’s orphaned, even if it’s human. I used to wish there were still wolves in California, so I could run away and join a pack.” She smiled shyly at Derek. 

He smiled back. “Looks like a good story.” He turned the page, and a piece of notebook paper fluttered out of the book and fell in his lap. “What’s this?”

“Oh.” Erica flushed again. “It’s a poem by the same author, from another book. I copied it out because I liked it so much.”

The poem was carefully written in purple ink, with hearts dotting each lowercase ‘i,’ and childish illustrations in the margins depicting wolves. “Do you write poetry?” Derek asked, playing a hunch.

Erica twisted her hands in the blanket. “I used to, when I was a kid. It was really bad.”

Derek wanted to ask if she still wrote, but didn’t want to push the issue. Instead, he read aloud from the poem:

_Now this is the law of the jungle, as old and as true as the sky,_  
 _And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die._  
 _As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back;_  
 _For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack._

Derek blinked in surprise. “A human wrote this?” he asked. 

Erica nodded. “He must have known about us, though, don’t you think?”

Derek nodded as he scanned the poem. “It’s eerie how accurate it is.” He re-read a line. “‘When pack meets with pack in the jungle, and neither shall go from the trail, lie down till the leaders have spoken; it may be fair words shall prevail.’”

“It’s funny you should mention that line,” Erica said. “When Peter died…” She hesitated. “We didn’t know what would happen. We knew there were other packs out there. We just figured they would try to slaughter us and take the territory. We were scared, but ready to fight to the death.” 

She shook her head. “We didn’t stand a chance, but we were too stupid to know it. But Stiles had done some research and knew about treaties. He even found the correct sigil to carve on the trees to show we were open to negotiations, and then put Deaton’s mark below to show who to contact.”

“Wait a minute,” Derek said. “I thought the treaty was Scott’s idea.”

Erica tilted her head again. “Please,” she said in a withering tone. “Have you met Scott?”

“Oh,” Derek said slowly. “So Scott was the official spokeswolf…”

“But Stiles analyzed each offer behind the scenes,” Erica explained. “And then we voted on which clan’s treaty to accept. Although Stiles had figured out we’d get the best deal from the Hales, because of the shame factor with Peter. Sorry,” she added.

“It’s okay,” Derek said absently, still processing the information. “So was it Stiles’ idea to be an Omega?”

Erica shook her head. “Stiles didn’t think any pack would accept him, because he was human. So he was ready to bow out.”

“But the rest of us said ‘Hell, no,’” Boyd said as he appeared from the kitchen, balancing three plates and carrying two sodas and a beer. 

“Thanks, babe.” Erica beamed at him as she took her plate, which held a sandwich the size of a football. 

“Holy crap,” Derek said, looking at his. “You put in everything but the kitchen sink.”

“Pretty much,” Boyd admitted. “Dealing with hunters is hungry work.”

Boyd sat between them on the couch, and they all fell to. Derek waited politely until the meal was devoured, although he was dying of curiosity. 

“So, about the negotiations…” he began, wiping his hands on a napkin. He nodded in thanks as Erica rose and stacked the plates.

“Like Boyd said, Stiles was ready to leave for the good of the pack, but we told him no. I think Jackson’s exact words were, ‘Don’t be a friggin’ idiot, Stilinski.’”

“Jackson?” Derek asked in surprise.

Boyd relaxed back into the couch and closed his eyes in contentment. “Yeah, but the sentiment was unanimous. Although Stiles wouldn’t let us try for Beta status for him.”

“He knew no clan would allow it,” Erica put in. “So he figured we had a better shot if he went Omega. Like I said, none of the rest of us knew a damn thing about werewolf laws. But Stiles had borrowed a bunch of books from Peter.” 

“I see,” Derek said. Erica carried the plates into the kitchen, and Derek could hear her tidying up. Boyd folded his huge hands across his stomach and promptly fell asleep. 

Feeling restless, Derek rose and went outside, where he stood staring into the midnight darkness of the woods for a long time.

***

The next morning, he went for a run through the cool, damp forest. He found another tree down, a be-ribboned nail driven into its bark. Its leaves were shriveling, its mighty branches already rotting to dust.

***

Finally, it was pack night, following the last lacrosse game of the pre-season. Beacon Hills beat the other team in double overtime, and the next thing Derek knew, his house was full of howling teenagers. Music was blasting out of the sound system, hard enough to shake the new windows, and he was fighting a losing battle to keep the kids out of his stash of beer. Isaac and Jackson were jumping up and down on the couch, continuously chanting “State! State! State! State!”, while Scott and Stiles, armed with their sticks, seemed to be re-creating every key play of the game on the front lawn. Finally, Derek gave in and went to bed, pulling a pillow over his head to block out the noise.

He woke late the next morning to find the usual pack sprawl, both in and around his bed. It took a moment to realize what had awakened him – the delicious smell of brewing coffee and baking bread, wafting up from the kitchen. 

Derek quickly got cleaned up and hurried downstairs, padding quietly in his bare feet. The kitchen was empty, but the coffee pot was on, an empty cup ready and waiting in front of it. Two fresh loaves of soda bread were cooling on top of the stove.

Derek filled the mug, then found Stiles in his usual spot on the back step. Despite the sun, the morning air was cool, and he wore his red hoodie over his usual jeans, flannel shirt, T-shirt, and sneakers. He had a cup of coffee at his elbow and was writing in his notebook, but he looked up and smiled when Derek opened the door.

“Hey,” Derek said.

Stiles sketched a wave.

Derek sat next to him on the step, and for a few moments they enjoyed their coffee in silence. Autumn had definitely arrived, but the herbs were still flourishing in the garden, filling the air with their spicy fragrance. Songbirds were busy raiding the seed plants, their tiny bodies swaying on the stems, but Derek didn’t have the heart to chase them away.

Stiles rose and took Derek’s cup, motioning for him to stay where he was. He returned a minute later, both mugs refilled, and carrying several slices of the freshly baked bread. He handed one to Derek and watched carefully as he ate it.

“‘S good,” Derek mumbled with his mouth full. “Is that Margery’s recipe?”

Stiles nodded and scribbled notes in the margins of the handwritten recipe. Then he toyed with his pencil for a minute. 

“What?” Derek asked, reaching for a second slice of bread.

Stiles flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and wrote:

_None of my business._

“Since when has that ever stopped you?”

Stiles thought for a minute, then shrugged.

 _Fair enough_ , he wrote.

He hesitated, then scribbled some more.

_She reminds me of my mom. But…the scars on the back of her neck. Somebody hurt her?_

Derek nodded.

_Why didn’t the wounds heal?_

“Because they were caused by an Alpha.”

Stiles looked up at him, his eyes clearly distressed.

Derek sighed. “Remember when I told you Peter hurt some of the servants in his parents’ household?”

Stiles’ eyes widened.

Derek nodded again. “Yeah.” 

He hesitated. “Afterwards, Margery had pups. Twins. But they died at birth. She said everyone told her it was for the best.”

Stiles sat for a long moment, looking down at his shoes. Then poked Derek with his pencil and frowned at him. 

“I was twelve years old and an idiot,” Derek answered. “I asked Margery about the scars, and she told me I was old enough to know the whole truth.” He set down his coffee cup. Somehow it tasted bitter now instead of comforting. 

The pencil snapped in half with a loud crack. Stiles looked down at his hands in surprise. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “That’s how I felt, too.”

His cell phone rang. Derek startled at the interruption, then cursed himself for automatically sticking the damn thing in his pocket when he got dressed. He pulled the phone out and peered at the screen.

“It’s Laura,” he said, and answered.

Five minutes later, he hung up the phone and put his head in his hands. “We are so screwed.”

Stiles poked Derek with the stub of his pencil. When Derek didn’t look up, he tugged insistently on his sleeve. When that didn’t work, he punched him in the arm. Derek rubbed both hands over his face, then looked at Stiles blearily.

“We’ve been challenged,” he said.


	28. Chapter 28

“I don’t get it,” Scott said for the third time, as the pack settled uneasily around the big table. “Who’s challenging us?”

“Another Alpha,” Derek explained patiently. “From another clan.”

Scott frowned in confusion. “And what are they challenging?”

“My control. Our cohesion as a group. Basically, my right to lead this pack and hold this territory.”

“Yeah, but we accepted your deal,” Scott said stubbornly. “We chose _you_.”

Derek’s heart warmed at the words, but he kept his expression neutral. “I know, but Alphas from other clans have a sort of legal grace period where they’re allowed to challenge the deal.”

“On what grounds?” Lydia asked, frowning.

Derek shrugged. “They don’t really need grounds. There’s a stock phrase about inability to maintain the territory, blah blah blah. Frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. It’s nothing to worry about,” he added when still saw consternation on the faces of his pack members. “Really. It’s just a formality.”

Stiles, who sat slumped over with his chin resting on the table, grabbed his cell phone and typed furiously. Then he punched Scott in the arm and held up his phone for him to read. Scott glanced at the screen.

“Stiles calls bullshit,” he said.

Derek glowered at Stiles, who raised his eyebrows in reply. 

“Okay,” Derek admitted. “Maybe it’s something to be a _little_ concerned about. But not like it used to be.”

“Explain,” Lydia ordered.

Derek sighed. “In the past, a challenge was basically a duel. The challenger and I would fight, winner take all.”

Boyd held up his hand. “Winner take all, as in winner takes the losing Alpha’s head?”

“Yes,” Derek admitted.

“And his pack?”

“Yes.”

“And his territory?”

Derek gritted his teeth. “Yes. Look, it’s not really like that anymore,” he said quickly. “It’s not even referred to as a challenge. It’s called a parliament now. It’s no big deal.”

“How does it work?” Allison asked. Derek still wasn’t completely comfortable with her, but had agreed to her presence at the pack meeting for selfish reasons: He needed her cool head and hunter’s instinct for strategy.

Derek took a deep breath. “First of all, the other pack comes here.”

Erica bristled. “To our territory?”

“Yes. There’s hospitality. Stiles, you’ll be in charge of that.” Derek nodded at Stiles, who nodded back. “Then there’s some kind of contest. It’s all moderated by a neutral third party. Not a werewolf,” he added. “Someone like Dr. Deaton.”

“Can it be Deaton?” Allison asked hopefully.

“No.” Derek shook his head. “The challengers get to pick the moderator. I know.” He held up his hand as the pack reacted. “It’s doesn’t seem fair. But those are the rules.”

Isaac gnawed nervously on his thumbnail. “What happens if we lose?”

“We won’t.”

“What happens if we do?”

“We _won’t_.”

Jackson, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, spoke for the first time. “So who are these jokers?”

Derek gave him a grateful glance. “The Alpha’s name is Langston Winter. He’s a younger son from the Winter Clan up north.”

Jackson tilted his head. “Wait a minute. Winter & Sons, as in the makers of Red Wolf Energy Drink?”

“And Winter Wolf Pale Ale.” Derek shrugged. “They’re a bunch of pretentious hipster douchebags from Portland. They’ve made a ton of money in the brewing business and they’ve been buying up land like crazy across the entire Pacific Northwest.” 

Lydia raised her chin. “So they’re upstarts. New money.”

“Exactly.” Derek nodded. “Now they want a foothold in California, and they think Beacon Hill is the place to start.”

A chorus of growls rose around the table. Stiles punched Scott in the arm again.

“Can they really take the territory?” Scott read from his phone.

“Not like in the old days,” Derek said. “But…” He hesitated. 

Stiles gestured impatiently.

“But if we lose the parliament, then they can challenge me in court,” Derek said reluctantly. “They can sue to have the territory put back on the market, so to speak, and then try to take over. Granted, it’s risky for them. The Hales would counter-sue, and the whole thing could wind up in court for years. Usually when that happens, the case goes into arbitration. That means the High Council decides. Then it comes down to which clan has the most members on the Council, although technically they’re supposed to be neutral.” He sighed. “It’s all very political.”

“That’s bullshit!” Erica said angrily. “What about what _we_ want?”

Derek grimaced. “We don’t get a vote,” he said. “If I lose, we all have to leave the territory.”

There was a shocked silence, followed by an explosion of talking. Then Stiles rapped his knuckles on the table, and the pack fell quiet. He held up his phone for Scott to read. 

“How long do we have to prepare?”

Derek took a deep breath. “Two weeks,” he said.

There was another shocked silence. 

“Okay.” Boyd leaned forward, flexing his big hands against the table top. “You said there was some kind of contest.”

Derek grinned. “That’s where it gets interesting. We get to set the challenge. It can be a fight, a race, anything physical. Although I’ve heard of some packs in Utah who now settle matters with high-stakes poker. No, Lydia,” he added as she perked up. “I know you’re a math genius, but no.”

Lydia folded her arms, pouting prettily, but didn’t challenge him.

“Anyway,” Derek continued, “we get to decide if it we want a duel, with Langston and I as single combatants, or something that involves all of us.”

“That’s easy,” Scott said. “We fight together.”

The pack members nodded, and Derek felt his heart swell with pride. “Okay,” he said. “That part’s decided. The other—" 

Jackson interrupted. “The other part’s easy, too,” he declared. “Assuming those Portland losers know how to play lacrosse.”

***

The next two weeks passed quickly—too quickly for Derek’s comfort. The pack had been teaching him lacrosse, but more for fun than anything else. Now they practiced in earnest, in addition to their usual training. Derek also drilled the teens on werewolf customs. His childhood textbooks came in handy for the topic, as well as for their basic grounding exercises. 

A week from the challenge, the pack sprawled on the front porch. It was a beautiful, balmy evening, and Derek knew everyone, himself included, longed to shift and run beneath the trees. Instead, they were gathered around Derek and scribbling in notebooks, enduring a particularly grueling session on customs regarding touch and eye contact

“There’s a reason parliaments are moderated by a third party,” Derek explained. “Part of it is to make sure the rules are observed, but mostly it’s to prevent bloodshed.”

“What?” Jackson snarked, irritably shoving aside a copy of _Wolf at the Door: Basic Etiquette for Today's Clans_. “We use the wrong fork for dessert, and the claws come out?”

Derek thought for a long moment before answering. “Werewolves are civilized,” he said. “But just barely. The old instincts run deep. Trust me, simply having another pack on our land will put you on edge. You’ll want to fight, and so will they. The smallest offence could set them off.” He leaned forward, deepening his voice. “But if we lose control, it will only reinforce the idea that I can’t hold the territory. It’s what they want. Got it?” 

He looked slowly around the circle, making eye contact with each pack member. Catching his solemn mood, they all nodded in understanding, even Jackson.

“Okay.” Derek picked up a packet that had arrived in the mail that day. “The second thing you need to know is the that other pack will be looking to put us off our game. They’ll be searching for our weak spots and trying to exploit them, trying to make us lose our shit. They won’t hesitate to fight dirty."

“So in other words,” Isaac drawled from where he lay on his stomach, “a typical lacrosse game.”

Derek laughed. “Exactly.” He looked around the pack again. “When in doubt, keep your mouth shut. If you’re still in doubt, look at Boyd and copy what he’s doing.”

Boyd, leaning against a post, rumbled with surprised laughter, then showed his teeth in a shy grin.

Derek smiled back and rested his fingers on Boyd’s shoulder. “We need to be there for each other, anchor each other. We need to be a solid unit. So if anybody has any issues with another pack member, you need to get them out in the open now. I’m serious,” he added when the pack stared at him. “Go beat the crap out of each other, I don’t care. There’s the lawn.” He gestured toward the grass.

Derek waited another minute, comforted when nobody spoke. Then he opened the packet and pulled out a stack of papers. “Allison, Lydia, and Stiles, this is your assignment.”

The three of them looked up with interest as Derek handed Lydia the papers.

“Laura sent me everything she could find on Langston’s crew, particularly those pack members who have been present at his recent parliaments. I want you to study their profiles, get to know them. Find out what dirty tricks Langston’s used in the past. Try to figure out what kind of roster he’ll put together, and how they might come at us. Got it?”

“Got it.” Lydia leafed rapidly through the profiles, her eyes scanning the pages. Derek could practically see her brain sorting and cataloging the contents. He permitted himself a moment of smug satisfaction. Langston Winter had no idea what he was up against.

“Search the Ws, as well,” he told Lydia. “Dig up every scrap of information you can find. We need to know what we’re dealing with.” 

“I can check the hunter database,” Allison offered. “See if they’ve had any run-ins with Langston’s pack.”

Derek let out a breath. “Thank you, Allison,” he said with genuine gratitude. She gave a small smile in return, accompanied by a firm nod. Her dark eyes were serious and focused. Derek felt a sudden wave of relief that she was on their side.

“Stiles.” Derek turned to where Stiles sat a little apart from the rest of the pack, leaning against the railing with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. He wore his red sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, his face partially hidden in the growing shadows. 

“Go through your books,” Derek told him. “See what you can find on the history of the Winter clan. Check the Werchives, too. You never know what might be pertinent, what we might be able to use against them.” 

Stiles nodded eagerly. As he moved, he shifted from the shade of the porch into the light of the setting son. In the golden glow of the evening, his eyes were a particularly bewitching shade of amber. 

“Is that legal?” Scott asked worriedly.

“What?” Derek startled with guilt, then looked at Scott.

“Is it against the rules?” Scott asked. “To check these guys out?”

“They fight dirty, we fight dirty,” Derek replied bluntly. He turned back to the others. “They’ll be looking for information on us, as well. Fortunately, since all of you have kept such a low profile, they won’t find any. Unfortunately…” He sighed heavily. “There’s more than enough crap out there about me. And given my reputation, they’ll probably be focusing their efforts on making me lose control. That’s what I’d do, if I were Langston.”

Boyd clapped a heavy hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We got your back.”

“Yeah, we got this,” Scott said, and the others around the circle nodded in agreement.

“Thanks.” Derek smiled at his pack, but couldn’t quite quell the anxiety in his heart.

***

Later that evening, during another break, Derek paced the confines of the yard, following the circle of trees that ringed the clearing. His unease lingered, and his fingers itched to call Laura on his cell and ask her advice. Not that she had faced this particular predicament, he thought sourly. No one had dared—or bothered—to challenge Laura when she’d taken her rightful place at Hale Corporation. His sister’s intelligence, strength, and competence were widely-known. No, it was only her misfit, throwback little brother who was considered easy prey. 

Not for first time, Derek found himself questioning his father’s confidence in him. By sending Derek so far away, by burdening him with such an atypical pack, had Grayson actually set his son up to fail? Perhaps he meant to contain the disaster he knew would inevitably befall the Hale clan’s youngest and most troublesome Alpha. This way, Derek mused bitterly, no stockholder need worry about him wreaking havoc at the corporation. Instead, his failure would happen far away, in a place no one cared about, to a pack nobody knew.

Derek shook himself, trying to physically throw off his bleak mood before his pack scented it. The last thing they needed was to lose confidence in themselves, or doubt his leadership. 

Derek turned from pacing and looked back toward the house. It was full dark now, and the moon was rising. Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson were ranged across the lawn, lazily passing a ball with their sticks. Scott and Allison huddled on the porch steps. Allison wore Scott’s jacket against the chill, and he had his arm slung around her shoulder while he happily sniffed her dark hair, his nose tucked into her neck.

Lydia sat a step below them, leaning comfortably back between Allison’s thighs as the other girl braided her hair. Erica was visible on the porch, sitting on a chair. The light from a window fell across her blonde curls as she bent over her notebook.

Derek smiled. Earlier that week, he had purchased the journal for Erica, a fancy one with a red leather cover and smooth, wide pages. He hadn’t said anything, just left the gift at the door of Erica and Boyd’s room. Erica hadn’t said anything, either, but Derek caught glimpses of her writing furiously in the journal when no one was looking. He wondered fondly if she still dotted her I’s with little hearts.

 _God, they’re just kids,_ Derek thought suddenly, and his anxiety returned, full-force. What would happen if he lost the challenge? His pack would be homeless, exiled from the only home most of them had ever known, while other wolves would take their place in this sweet, magical spot.

The thought of the Winters living in _his_ house, in the heart of Hale land, made Derek’s blood boil. He felt his shift happening and fought it back. _This is exactly what those assholes are counting on!_ he raged at himself. _For you to lose control. Get your shit together, Hale!_

At that moment, Stiles came out of the house, the screen door slamming behind him. He held a tray containing the ingredients for S’mores—chocolate bars, graham crackers, and marshmallows (the giant kind) as well as sticks. As the others watched curiously, he strode to the center of the lawn, set down the tray, and kicked aside the grass with his sneaker until he’d created a patch of bare dirt. Then he stood still for a moment, holding his hand parallel to the ground.

Derek held his breath. For the past week, Stiles had pored over Derek’s old textbooks and dutifully practiced the grounding exercises with the other pack members. The change was subtle, but he seemed slightly less agitated now, the household electronics slightly less likely to emit a shower of random sparks as he passed.

Now, crimson drops of fire fell from Stiles’ fingers like rose petals, gathering in a heap on the ground. There, they burned merrily, consuming nothing as they danced.

Stiles straightened, the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned his hand palm up, and the fire rose higher. A fountain of sparks shot like fireworks from his palm, leaping into the night sky and falling back toward his upturned face.

Scott howled with glee in the darkness. The rest of the pack joined in as they scrambled happily toward the fire. Stiles handed out sticks, and the pack gathered around the blaze to toast their marshmallows, laughing and jostling good-naturedly.

Stiles looked up at Derek, his eyes shining and his mouth stretched in a wide smile.

Derek smiled back. As he strode forward, he felt his dark mood lift, as effortlessly as the sparks that rose to greet the moon. 

***

“No!” Derek glared at Stiles and folded his arms. “No, absolutely not.”

It was the morning of the parliament. The rest of the pack had already left for the public park where the game would be held, carrying their lacrosse equipment and the food Stiles had prepared. To any casual observer, they would look like a group of friends meeting for a picnic.

Derek was the last to leave and was heading out the door to the Camaro. On the front porch, he found Stiles standing in his way, arms folded across his chest and a stubborn jut to his chin.

“No,” Derek said again. “Stiles, we talked about this already,” he added when Stiles didn’t move. "You’re not going.” 

He tried to go around Stiles, but the boy countered his move, staying in front of him. Derek growled and picked him up bodily, then set him out of the way. Again, Stiles darted back in front of him.

“Stiles,” Derek gritted through his teeth.

Stiles gestured angrily, moving his hand outward from his head, then mimed shooting a bow.

“Yes, Lydia and Allison are going,” Derek admitted. “But they’re not going to be at the game.” 

Instead, the girls would watch from afar, armed with a pair of Chris Argent’s high-powered binoculars. Their task was the keep an eye on the Winters, texting word of any suspicious movements. 

On the one hand, Derek knew he was putting the girls at risk, while the chances that the Winters would try to sneak more pack members in was slim. Langston had been required to submit a list of his pack members who would be attending the parliament, all of whom were forbidden from being anywhere in Hale territory other than the agreed-upon meeting place.

On the other hand, Derek didn’t trust Langston Winter as far as he could throw him. He felt better going into the situation knowing that Lydia was keeping an eye out for trouble, while Allison kept an eye on Lydia. The hunter was fully armed, and Derek knew she would fight fiercely to protect her best friend if trouble came, which eased his conscience somewhat. But he couldn’t spare another pack member to keep a similar eye on Stiles. Langston was bringing five pack members besides himself, which meant that Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Scott, and Jackson were needed for the lacrosse game.

Stiles impatiently poked Derek in the chest, then pointed to himself. 

“Yes, I need you,” Derek agreed. “The pack needs you. That’s why you can’t go. Listen,” he said as Stiles started to gesture again. “Just listen to me.” 

Derek stepped closer and curled his hands loosely around Stiles’ neck, resting the pads of his thumbs on the hinges of Stiles’ jaw. Stiles quieted automatically at the Alpha’s touch.

“Think about this,” Derek said, tilting Stiles’ head so he could look deeply into his eyes. “If the Winters find out you’re a member of this pack, you could be in serious danger. It’s different for Allison and Lydia,” he added when he Stiles opened his mouth. “They’re human, okay? You’re more than that.”

Derek stepped even closer, tightening his grip. “It would be bad enough if other wolves found out about you,” he said firmly. “But remember this: The people who killed your parents are still out there somewhere. Right now, they think you’re dead. But if word gets out there’s a witch in Beacon Hills, they just might put two and two together.” He gave Stiles a little shake. “Okay?”

At the mention of his parents, Stiles dropped his gaze to the floor. His shoulders sagged, and his lips trembled. Derek felt guilty for using his grief against him, but he knew how headstrong Stiles could be. 

“This pack can’t risk losing you, Stiles,” Derek said softly. “I can’t risk losing you. So you stay here. That’s an order. Got it?”

Stiles didn’t look up. Instead, he slowly tilted his head to the side, baring his neck in reluctant obedience. 

Derek rested his hand on Stiles’ neck, covering the bite mark with his palm. “I’ll call you as soon as it’s over,” he said. “I promise.” He tilted Stiles’ head toward him and kissed his forehead, then turned and hurried down the steps.

He could still see Stiles in his rear view mirror as he drove away. The boy stood on the front porch, his shoulders hunched under his red hoodie, arms wrapped around himself. Dead leaves swirled at his feet in a sudden gust of wind, while a smattering of rain fell from the darkened sky.

Derek told himself the dread in his stomach was just pre-parliament nerves, and drove on.


	29. Chapter 29

Derek’s unease dissipated as he drove. It helped that the weather cleared, making for a cool, crisp autumn day. Derek rolled down the window, letting the clean air clear the cobwebs from his brain. The coffee in his travel mug helped, too — Stiles had made it extra-strong that morning.

Derek felt a faint wisp of guilt at the thought. Fortunately, Boyd called, distracting him. 

“Too many little kids in the park this morning,” he rumbled into the phone. “It doesn’t feel safe. I know nobody’s going to shift, but still…” 

“You think we should go with our second choice?” Derek asked.

“Yeah.” Boyd hesitated. “If you want to check for yourself—”

“Not at all,” Derek replied. “I trust your judgment. And we’re within our rights to change the location for safety reasons. You call Lydia and Allison, and I’ll tell the moderator.”

“On it.” Boyd hung up, and Derek called the moderator, whose name was Morrell. Her voice was cool and detached, impossible to get a read on over the phone, but she agreed to the location change without argument.

“Winter has had a slight alteration on his end, as well,” she added. “One of his pack broke his leg during morning practice, and he’s made a substitution. I’ll text you the information.”

“Thank you.” Derek hung up and peered at the screen in anticipation of the text, then jerked the wheel in alarm and annoyance as a passing driver honked at him. 

Derek glared at the other car’s HANG UP AND DRIVE bumper sticker, but obediently set down his phone. After all, Stiles had made him take the no-texting-while-driving pledge. And gotten him the damn T-shirt.

Fortunately, the alternate location was close, so Derek was there in five minutes. Since this was Beacon Hills, practically every park in the city had a regulation-sized lacrosse field. This one was used by the high school as an occasional practice area. It was further into the territory than the first location—further in than Derek liked—but it was more isolated. And the Beacon Hills pack had practiced on both fields, just in case, so he felt relatively confident.

The pack was finishing setting up the food when he arrived. After much discussion, they’d gone with a casual theme: Barbecued pork and chicken, corn on the cob, cole slaw, cornbread, and pie. (Stiles had been baking up a storm all week.) The Winter pack would provide beverages from their brewery.

The pack was hyped to the gills, of course, but cheerful, with the natural confidence of the young. Derek felt his own spirits rise further, buoyed by their mood. He had just pulled them into a circle for a last-minute pep talk when a loud roaring noise reached his ears. He turned in irritation to see a black motorcycle pull up to the field.

The figure on the bike was female and dressed in black, including a black helmet, boots, jeans, and leather jacket. She parked the bike, got off, and removed her helmet, revealing long straight hair. As she walked toward him, Derek realized it was Alisha Morrell, the moderator.

As Morrell got closer, Derek could see that she was a striking woman, if a little severe. She had a high sloping forward and piercing eyes, and walked with a confident swagger. 

“Alpha Hale,” she said politely, although her expression bordered on distaste. 

Derek could hear Erica growl behind him, and quickly stepped forward. “Dr. Morrell,” he said, and bowed formally. “Welcome to Beacon Hills. The Hale Clan is honored by your presence and thanks you for agreeing to moderate this parliament.”

Morrell inclined her head, accepting her due. “Are you ready?”

Derek blinked, a little surprised by her bluntness. Generally, the proceedings at this point would include private hospitality for the moderator with pack introductions, as well as polite conversation on the weather and the relative ease or difficulty of her journey. 

“We are,” Derek said hastily when Morrell continued to stare at him.

Morrell took a few steps back and pulled out a cell phone—black, naturally—and hit speed-dial.

“They’re ready,” she said, then hung up. Then she turned to the far end of the field and waited. The pack was giving Derek uncertain looks, so he folded his arms in what he hoped was a confident manner, and waited as well.

Ninety tense seconds later, a vintage VW van, complete with a painted-on peace sign, pulled up at the far end of the field. 

Derek ground his teeth. “Pretentious Portland douchebags,” he muttered. The doors opened, and members of the Winter Pack tumbled out, toting kegs of beer. As they did, a scent wafted across the field and reached Derek’s nostrils.

He stiffened, feeling a bolt of pure rage shoot through him.

“Son of a bitch!” he hissed.

***

Derek quickly turned his back, hoping the other pack hadn’t heard him. Boyd put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and the others stepped closer, ringing him in a protective circle.

“What is it?” Boyd asked. “What’s wrong?”

Derek clenched his fists as his claws fought their way to the surface. “Guy in the red shirt,” he muttered. “Just got out of the van. Don’t everybody look at once!” he hissed as heads started to turn.

Jackson, at the far side of the circle, peered at the distant figure through narrowed eyes. “Who is he?”

Derek ground his teeth again. “Alec Phillips.”

Scott frowned. “That name wasn’t on the list.”

Derek shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing in his ears. “He’s a last minute substitution. One of their other players got injured this morning. Shit!” he swore under his breath. “Langston probably broke the poor bastard’s leg himself.”

“Wouldn’t it heal?” Isaac asked.

“Alpha injury,” Derek said. “Takes longer.” His gums ached as his fangs pressed against the surface, demanding release.

“Hey.” Boyd squeezed Derek’s shoulder, helping him ground. “You know this guy?”

“He used to date my sister,” Derek growled. “At a time when she was really vulnerable.” Laura had only recently broken it off with Marcus, Derek remembered, and was playing the field for the first time in her life. She was easy prey for a smooth-talker like Alec. Derek felt his hackles rise at the memory.

“Derek.” Erica moved forward into his line of vision, making eye contact. “Listen to me. This is why they brought him. To set you off.”

“She’s right,” Scott said. “You told us Winter would try to throw you off your game.”

“I know.” Derek hunched his shoulders. His neck ached with the strain of holding his shift in check. “But it never occurred to me they’d do it like this. I’d forgotten Alec is related to the Winters on his mother’s side.” He mentally kicked himself for his carelessness.

“Can they do that?” Isaac asked worriedly. “Just bring a guy in at the last minute?”

“Technically, yeah, the same way we could change the location. Shit!” Derek swore again. He risked a glance over his shoulder. 

The Winter pack was ranged at the far end of the field, waiting. Morrell turned and looked at Derek, raising a narrow eyebrow. Her message was clear.

_Your move, Hale._

“Fuck,” Derek muttered, not even caring if the Winters could hear him. Boyd’s phone chirped, and Derek turned back. Boyd held up the screen so Derek could read the text from Allison.

_All present and accounted for, as far as we can see. Game on._

Derek rubbed his neck to ease the ache. Allison’s vantage point wasn’t as good in this location, which was why they had gone with the other park in the first place: It was surrounded by wooded hills, with plenty of places for the hunter to hide. Here, she was forced to move further off, lurking in some light-industrial buildings near the practice area, with a much narrower field of vision.

The phone chirped again.

_Lydia says KICK ASS!!_

Derek couldn’t help but smile. He realized his pack was watching him, their faces tense. Only Jackson seemed relaxed and cheerful, cracking his gum and casually swinging his lacrosse stick.

“How do you want to do this, Derek?” he asked. “You want us to kill Phillips?”

Derek hesitated. “Hold that thought,” he said. 

Then he turned and walked to the center of the field. The pack followed, ranging themselves behind him when he came to a stop. Derek could feel Boyd to his right, a solid presence.

Derek folded his arms and nodded to Morrell. She turned and signaled Langston, and the rival pack moved forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short - the next one's already in the hopper, so it should be up soon


	30. Chapter 30

***  
As the rival pack approached, Derek mentally went over the analysis that Lydia, Allison, and Stiles had provided the previous night.

_“We couldn’t find much on the Winter Clan,” Lydia explained as the pack gathered in the living room. “They haven’t left much of a mark on history because, frankly, they’re cowards. They’ll never fight if they can buy their way out of a problem.”_

_“Or just run away,” Allison added, from her perch on Scott’s lap. “They’ve managed to avoid most Hunters.”_

_“Maybe they just have a good sense of self-preservation,” Isaac observed from his usual spot on the floor._

_Jackson gave a snort. “Better than ours, apparently.”_

_“True,” Lydia conceded. “They certainly don’t have our Clan’s obsession with honor.”_

_**Our Clan** Derek thought. Lydia had said **Our Clan** instead of **Your Clan**. He resisted the happy urge to sweep the teens into a pack pile and nuzzle them. Instead, he re-focused on what Lydia was saying._

_“But even so,” she continued, “the Winters would never risk a parliament if they thought the other party could beat them.”_

_“So they think we’re weak.” Erica’s voice was tinged with outrage._

_Lydia nodded. “Not our Clan, just our Pack.” She glanced apologetically at Derek. “And our Alpha.”_

_“It’s all right,” Derek said as the others sputtered indignantly. “I know my reputation.”_

_“What reputation?” Scott demanded._

_Allison smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Derek’s considered the red-headed stepchild of the Hales.”_

_Derek blinked. “The what?”_

_“The red-headed stepchild.”_

_Derek frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”_

_Stiles, also sprawled on the floor, nudged Derek and held up his notebook._

_“Human expression,” Derek read off the page. “It means ‘the odd one out.’ Oh, I get it. I’m the wolf with a fox’s tail. That’s what we’d call it,” he explained._

_Stiles smiled in delight, then scribbled furiously in his notebook. He had stacks of such journals in his room, compilations of werewolf lore drawn from Peter’s books, the Werchives, and Derek’s stories. Stiles hoarded information the way magpies collect shiny metal objects._

_At a nod from Lydia, Allison took over. “But just because Langston thinks this is a slam dunk, doesn’t mean he’s not bringing his best.”_

_She rose from Scott’s lap, ignoring his pout, and spread a series of files on the table as the others gathered around._

_“These are the players from the list Langston submitted.” Allison pointed to the files, each of which had a photo paper-clipped to the front. “Langston, of course, then his brother Carl and their cousin Will. Like I said, the Winters don’t usually challenge. They prefer to buy their way into a territory. But these two have been at every parliament Langston has. They’re pretty much his wingmen.”_

_Allison pointed to another photo, showing a powerful man with long black hair and bronze skin. “Alphonse Edgerton. He’s the muscle.”_

_“Pretty muscle,” Lydia murmured, stroking the photo with her fingertips._

_“Down, girl,” Allison said with a smile. “Alphonse may be the muscle, but he’s no meathead. He’s smart and disciplined. He’s older than most of Langston’s crew, as well. The Winter Clan took him in when the rest of his pack was killed by Hunters up in Canada. He’s loyal to Langston as his Alpha, but…”_

_“But he’s not family,” Derek said._

_“Exactly,” Allison said. “Not a weak link, but not as strong as blood. Here’s Langston’s ringer.” She pointed to a photo of a young woman with long limbs and red hair. “Phillipa Matthews. She’s a midfielder on the UCLA women’s lacrosse team, which took the NCAA championship last year, and she’s on the short list to make the US Olympic team in 2016.”_

_“Oh, crap,” Isaac said._

_“Exactly,” Allison said again. “We figure Langston’s entire strategy for the game will be to get Phillipa the ball.” She pointed to the final photo, of a scrawny, tattooed young man. “This is Shane DaCosta.”_

_“And what’s his story?” Derek asked when Allison hesitated._

_Allison scratched her head, then glanced at Lydia, who pursed her lips, and Stiles, who threw both hands in the air in an exaggerated shrug._

_“We can’t figure it out,” Allison admitted. “Basically, he’s Langston’s dealer.”_

_Boyd laughed. “Smoke a lot of weed up in Portland, do they?”_

_“You have no idea.” Allison rolled her eyes. “Shane’s a werewolf, sure, but he’s not particularly strong or fast or ferocious. He’s definitely not a fighter.”_

_“So why is Langston bringing this loser?” Jackson asked._

_“We don’t know,” Allison said. “But given Langston’s reputation, I’d say he has something up his sleeve.”_

Derek remembered the conversation as the Winter pack came closer. Clearly, Langston had had no intention of bringing Shane at all—instead, he’d merely been a place holder for the last-minute substitution of Alec.

Derek gritted his teeth and scanned the other players, who were exactly as Allison had described them. 

Langston came first, a tall, rangy young man with floppy, reddish-blond hair. He was handsome, if you ignored his too-prominent nose and weak chin, which he attempted to disguise with a goatee. Carl and Will bore the family resemblance, with similar coloring and build, although they were taller and broader in the shoulder than Langston. They looked more like twins than cousins. Each one carried a keg of beer on his shoulder as easily as if it were a kitten.

Behind them, Phillipa bounded forward, full of energy and enthusiasm, carrying her lacrosse gear with practiced ease and a cheerful grin.

Alphonse walked a little apart from the rest of the pack, radiating calm confidence. Derek remembered from his file that he worked in law enforcement. He definitely seemed the kind of man who could stop a bar fight just by walking into the room, without ever having to draw his gun.

Finally, Derek forced himself to look directly at Alec. He was good-looking in a slick way, with smooth dark hair, good teeth, and a boyish appearance. When he caught Derek’s gaze, his grin grew smug.

As the Winters came to a stop, Dr. Morrell stepped between the two packs. But Derek barely listened as she explained the rules of the parliament and issued the formal challenge. Instead, his head was filled with an angry buzzing, and when Morrell asked if he would agree to be bound by the outcome of the game, he gave a curt nod instead of a verbal answer.

Fortunately, Boyd stepped forward at that point and offered hospitality. Things remained tense until the kegs were tapped and the food was devoured—after that, the two packs mingled somewhat. Carl and Will talked lacrosse with Jackson and Scott, while Boyd and Alphonse seemed to bond by virtue of their similar build and personalities. Both seemed content to watch the proceedings silently, arms folded, beers in hand. Erica glared at everyone, but Derek saw Phillipa say something to Isaac that made him smile and blush.

Derek scolded himself a little at that. He hadn’t done anything to introduce his pack members to the larger wolf world, where they could meet others of their kind. And even though the rest of the Beacon Hills pack were already paired off, Isaac was definitely of the age and inclination where he should seek a mate. Although the thought of subjecting shy, sensitive Isaac to someone like Daphne Smalls and her online mating service made Derek chuckle.

“Hale!”

Derek’s chin jerked up as Langston approached, carrying two cups. Alec trailed a little behind. His scent engulfed Derek as he approached, an all-too-familiar blend of espresso, oil paint, and clove cigarettes. Alec was an artist, Derek remembered, or fancied himself one. He had met Laura at a gallery opening and offered to paint her portrait. That’s how they had started dating.

Now he nodded in greeting at Derek. 

“Beast,” he said.

Derek bristled at hearing his hated old nickname, but managed to reply calmly.

“Hey, Slick. It’s been a while.”

Alec frowned. Apparently, he didn’t like his old nickname either. Or perhaps he wasn’t pleased to be reminded of the last time the two met, when Derek had threatened to rip out his testicles with his teeth.

“Have you tried our new fall brew?” Langston interjected smoothly. “Passionate Pumpkin Spice Ale. It’s won several micro-brewery awards.”

“Sounds delicious,” Derek said through his teeth, forcing himself to accept the cup.

Langston turned to observe the (now decimated) picnic tables. “Nice spread. Although…”

“Yes?” Derek asked, feeling the buzzing start in his head again.

“A little more casual than what I was expecting.”

“You were expecting white linen tablecloths and candelabras?” Derek asked, aware that both packs had fallen into a tense silence.

Langston smiled, showing slightly browned teeth. “Well, I know how you Hales like to show off.”

“True.” Derek inclined his head. “I did think about it.” He gave Langston a hearty but friendly clap on the shoulder. “But I know how you much you hate pretense, big guy.”

Langston frowned, trying to work out the insult, and Alec stepped eagerly into the breach.

“Yeah, I thought you Hales were traditionalists.” He swept his hand dismissively at Derek’s pack. “What, no bevy of virgin Omegas to welcome us?”

“Are you volunteering?” Derek asked.

Boyd and Alphonse simultaneously choked on their beer. As both packs joined in the laughter, Alec’s face turned red with fury, and he stepped toward Derek.

An ear-splitting shriek filled the air, and all the wolves winced, then turned to Morrell, who held up a silver dog whistle.

“Enough chit-chat,” she said. “Let the games begin.”

***

Since neither pack had enough members for a traditional lacrosse team, they had agreed to play a modified version. Scott and Jackson served as Beacon Hills’ attackmen, with Derek midfield and Boyd and Erica as defenders. Isaac started at goalie, although they agreed he would switch positions with Boyd as needed. (Jackson’s suggestion that Derek turn his best friend and goalie Danny into a werewolf in time for the game was voted down.)

The Winters, naturally, put Alphonse on defense and Phillipa on the attack, joined by Will. Carl took the second defensive position, with Langston at goal and Alec midfield. This meant that, by design, most face-offs happened between Derek and Alec.

But despite the tension and the high stakes, Derek found himself enjoying the game. He loved running with his pack under the bright sunshine and working together as a team. His heart soared with joy and pride as he watched Jackson’s and Scott’s skill and artistry on the field, Boyd’s strength, and Erica’s fighting spirit. (Any hopes the Winters had of easily getting past her to score were crushed in the first two minutes of the game.)

Granted, Isaac grew flustered when Phillipa shot him a charming smile along with the ball. He launched himself in front of it a half-second too late, allowing the Winters to score.

“Shake it off!” Derek told him as the other pack celebrated. He could smell the shame in Isaac’s scent and could only guess the mental tirade in his head, no doubt in his father’s voice. 

“Isaac!” he said sharply when the boy continued to stare at the ground.

Isaac’s head snapped up, an automatic response to his Alpha’s voice.

“Shake it off,” Derek said gently. “We got this.”

After a moment, Isaac gave a firm nod and resumed his stance at goal. Derek turned and ran upfield for the face-off. 

As they crouched down across the ball, sticks at the ready, Alec grinned at Derek through his helmet.

“How’s your sister, Beast?” he asked. “Still single?”

“Shut it, Slick,” Derek warned. 

“I can’t figure out why Laura’s not mated yet,” Alex continued blithely. “She’s certainly easy…” He paused. “I mean, easy to get along with.”

The whistle blew.

Derek surged upward and, with one blow, drove Alec into the turf, dislocating his shoulder and shattering his collarbone.

“Illegal hit!” Langston squawked, running forward. “Illegal hit!”

Morrell glanced at him in annoyance. “I didn’t see it.”

“Are you serious?” Langston’s voice rose from a squawk to a squeak. “My player’s badly hurt.” He pointed to Alec, still writhing in agony on the ground.

Derek raised his helmet. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “My mistake. I thought you came here to play lacrosse, not _soccer_.”

Jackson snickered loudly. 

Morrell blew her whistle for silence. “Shake it off,” she told Alec. “Take five minutes to heal. The rest of you, keep playing.”

Alec scowled, but jerked his shoulder back in place with a crunch, then staggered off the field toward the rickety bleachers, where he gulped water from the cooler.

“Pussy,” Jackson observed.

Derek was expecting retaliation when play resumed, so he wasn’t surprised when Alphonse hit him with a bone-shattering body-check a few minutes later. Derek felt like he’d collided with a brick wall and hit the ground so hard he literally bounced.

“Nice hit,” he told Alphonse when he got his breath back.

Alphonse grinned. “Thanks!” He gave Derek a hand up, and they both jogged upfield toward the fray. Derek didn’t sense any animosity from the other wolf, just a sportsmanlike enjoyment of the game. He could also sense Alphonse’s Alpha potential. It was a shame the tragic circumstances of his life would prevent him from ever reaching it.

Suddenly, the ball flew toward Derek, startling him. He caught it more on instinct than skill and ran toward the goal, thankful the pack had made him practice his cradling technique. Still, he got rid of the ball as soon as he could, passing it to Jackson for the goal. 

Phillipa intercepted the pass and dashed toward the other end of the field. Derek cursed as play suddenly shifted direction, and the Beacon Hills players tried desperately to catch up with the attack. Phillips drew back her arm for a clear shot, and Derek could smell Isaac’s panic. 

Fortunately, Erica surged forward, checking Phillipa so hard their helmets banged together. Boyd scooped up the ball as it flew out, then flung it as hard as he could, downfield to Derek.

 _Don’t drop it_ , Derek told himself as the ball soared toward him, against the backdrop of the bright blue autumn sky. _Don’t drop it Don’t drop it Don’t drop it!_

By some miracle, the ball landed in the mesh of Derek’s stick. At the same time, his legs took off, running toward the goal of their own volition as once again, his body’s instincts took over for his brain.

Time seemed to slow down, stretching out like taffy as Derek ran. He could see the goal ahead, with Langston ranged in front of it, shifting his weight back and forth in an attempt to anticipate Derek’s shot. 

At the same time, Derek became aware of several noises, beyond the shouting of the other players and the pounding of their feet.

Tiny noises, so quiet only a werewolf’s keen hearing could possibly have picked them up.

One was the beeping of his phone, which was sitting on the picnic table at the far end of the field, next to his car keys. The tone signaled a text message received.

Even as the sound died away, it started up again, as if someone was sending text after text, trying to get his attention.

 _Allison_. Derek thought numbly, even as his arm came up to shoot the ball. Allison and Lydia were trying to reach him, trying to tell him something.

The second sound his sluggish brain registered was quieter still—even a human who could hear the cell phone would never hear this.

It was the beating of a human heart.

A frantic beat, signaling fear and panic.

Derek’s arm swept forward of its own accord. Langston’s eyes widened as he hurled himself sideways to block the shot.

The ball just brushed the mesh of his stick as it found the goal.

Derek stared in shock while the whistle blew.

The game was offically tied.

Even as his pack swarmed him, cheering and hugging and pounding his back, he found himself turning, his eyes sweeping the field.

The heartbeat increased. Derek could feel the desperate thumping as clearly as if it were in his own chest. 

He fought his way free of his pack and ripped off his helmet, looking around him for the source. The beeping of the cell phone seemed suddenly louder and more urgent.

The pack immediately sensed his anxiety and tensed, growling.

“Derek!” Boyd grabbed his shoulder. “What is it?”

Derek’s mind finally caught up with his instincts, and his mouth followed. 

“Alec,” he croaked. “Where’s Alec?”

“What?” Boyd frowned at him.

“Alec!” Derek shoved Boyd aside, pointing to the empty sidelines. “He was just there a minute ago…” 

He raised his nose, scenting the air. He quickly located Alec’s distinctive scent, beyond the bleachers and behind the narrow equipment shed that ran beneath them.

His nose detected another smell, too—this one much more familiar, but tinged with raw terror, a scent as acrid as burnt rubber.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. 

He dropped his stick and sprinted off the field. 

“Stay back!” he roared, as the pack tried to follow him. They hesitated at his command, and Derek ran on.

As he rounded the bleachers, he heard Stiles’ heartbeat increase even further, his breathing quicken. He smelled blood.

Derek flung himself toward the shed and skidded to a stop at the sight before him. 

Alec had Stiles pinned against the wall of the shed, claws wrapped so tightly around his throat they drew blood. Stiles’ body was pressed underneath Alec’s, helplessly held in the place while the wolf shoved his hips aggressively forward into Stiles’, eagerly scenting the boy’s neck and licking at the blood running freely down his skin. Stiles struggled, whimpering, but couldn’t break loose. 

Alec turned to Derek, showing his bloody teeth in a feral smile.

“Hey, Beast,” he said casually. “Looks like I found the virgin Omega after all.”


	31. Chapter 31

Derek felt a terrible calm come over him. 

“Let him go,” he said.

Alec laughed. “What, aren’t you going to share your little playtoy? So much for old-fashioned hospitality.” 

Alec kept his eyes on Derek, but snarled in irritation as Stiles braced his body against the shed and shoved Alec’s weakened shoulder, managing to work one hand free. Derek saw Stile’s palm start to glow with power, barely visible in the bright sunlight, while the metal girders in the bleachers began to creak and hum. Derek could feel the vibrations in his teeth.

Without looking, Alec grabbed Stiles’ wrist and slammed it against the wall with a sickening crunch. Stiles cried out in pain and sagged in Alec’s grip. The light in his palm flickered, and the bleachers stilled.

“Stiles.” Derek spoke firmly. “Don’t move.”

When Stiles raised his eyes to him, Derek gave a minute shake of his head. Stiles bit his lip, but nodded in reply.

“You know, I can’t figure this one out,” Alec said conversationally. He sniffed along Stiles’ neck, wrinkling his nose. “I mean, he stinks of you. Uh-uh,” he added warningly, tightening his grip on Stiles’ throat as tried to turn his head away. 

As he did, Derek realized Stiles was wearing the T-shirt Derek had lent him in LA. It had disappeared from Derek’s laundry basket soon after. No doubt Stiles had worn it today hoping to disguise his own scent while he sneaked behind the bleachers to watch the match.

Alec gave another sniff, ignoring Stiles’ shiver of revulsion. “But at the same time,” he continued, “he’s still pure. He’s got your mark,” he said to Derek, “but you haven’t claimed him. What’s up with that? Were you saving him for a special occasion?” 

“Alec,” Derek said quietly. “Let him go, and I’ll let you live.”

Alec hissed, showing his teeth. Then, keeping his eyes on Derek, he licked a trail up Stiles’ neck with the tip of his tongue, lapping up a line of blood from where his claws had newly pierced the skin. Tears slipped from the corner of Stiles’ eye and ran down his cheeks, smearing the blood on his face.

“Are you sure?” Alec pouted at Derek. “One quick rut? One little fuck? What’s the harm? He might even enjoy it.”

In reply, Derek slowly opened his mouth, letting his fangs emerge, and growled. The bleachers shook at the sound, harder this time, and the metal struts rattled together loudly.

Alec flinched at the display of power, hesitating. Then, with a shove, he flung Stiles at Derek.

“Fine! Take him!” he spat.

Derek caught Stiles and automatically shoved the boy behind him. Stiles clutched at Derek’s shoulders with trembling fingers, and Derek could feel his shaky, panicked breath against the back of his neck.

“Now get the fuck off my territory,” Derek told Alec.

“The Alpha must be obeyed,” Alec sneered. 

“Damn straight.” Derek deliberately turned his back, dismissing the other as a threat, a gesture meant to insult.

It worked. Derek smelled Alec’s rage spike, the scent as sour as ammonia.

“No big loss,” he heard the other say. “After all, it’s not the first time I’ve tossed away Hale trash.”

Even as his claws emerged, Derek felt a profound calmness in his mind. He could clearly visualize his next movement: A turn, and then two steps more. A swipe of his right claws to rip out Alec’s throat, followed by a sweep of his left to eviscerate him. It was as good as done.

But even as he pivoted, even as his weight shifted to begin the attack, there was an unexpected movement, something unanticipated, as a quick figure darted around him. Then there were strong hands against his chest, pushing him back, followed by warm, soft lips pressed against his own.

Derek gave a grunt of surprise as Stiles kissed him, and he fell backward a step. Something unfolded inside him—something that had been hiding deep within him, waiting his entire life to emerge.

It had been trying to get his attention, Derek realized, even as he regained his footing and brought his lips down on Stiles’, even as he wound his arms around his waist and pulled him close. For weeks, that small, insistent part of himself had been hammering at the doors of his heart, begging to be let out, begging to live.

Now, Derek let it. He wound his fingers in Stiles’ hair and deepened the kiss. In reply, Stiles tightened his fists in Derek’s shirt front and made a hungry little murmur against Derek’s lips.

The tiny part of Derek burst to life with a triumphant roar. 

_MINE!_ it bellowed. And then, more softly: _Mate_.

“Mine,” Derek crooned against Stiles’ lips, pleased when he shuddered in response.

Derek could hear commotion behind him, including running footsteps, and smell the pack approaching. They had been waiting obediently during the confrontation, he realized—anxious, but reluctant to disobey his last order. But the sudden sharp spike in his scent, the abrupt surge in his emotions, had been too much for them to ignore. 

Derek reluctantly pulled back from the kiss. Stiles slowly opened his eyes and blinked groggily up at him. 

For a moment, Derek cradled Stiles’ cheek in one palm, and for a moment, Stiles rested his face there, gifting Derek with a tiny smile. 

Then the pack surrounded them. Derek could sense their confusion, followed by shock and rage as they saw Stiles’ injuries and smelled his blood on Alec’s claws. 

At the same moment, Langston’s pack appeared from the other side of the bleachers, followed by Dr. Morrell.

Derek gently shoved Stiles at Scott.

“Take him,” he said. Then he turned to face the others. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Langston demanded.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Derek replied coolly. “Apparently you need to keep Alec on a leash.” 

Langston turned to stare at Alec. Then he quickly looked at Stiles, who stood in the midst of the pack, their arms protectively wound around him. Stiles was cradling his injured wrist, and the claw marks were clearly visible on his neck.

Langston turned back to Alec. “What the fuck did you do?” 

“I didn’t…I just—” Alec stammered.

Langston interrupted with an angry snarl. “You attacked another Alpha’s mate?”

Derek folded his arms. “He did.”

“No, I didn’t!” Alec’s face flushed. “I mean, he wasn’t a minute ago—” 

“You fool!” Langston hissed at him.

“There’s something wrong with him!” Alec yelled, pointing at Stiles. “He’s an Omega but he smells weird, like—”

“He smells like Hale!” Langston bellowed. “And I don’t care if he’s somebody’s maiden aunt, you don’t touch another Alpha’s meat!”

“Dr. Morrell,” Derek said, quickly turning to her. “A judgment, if you please.”

Morrell glared at Alec, looking just as incensed as Langston. But when she spoke, her voice was cool, her words clipped and precise. 

“Alpha Winter’s pack has violated the terms of the parliament with this breach of etiquette. The Winter Pack cedes the challenge, and Alpha Hale retains his territory. No further challenges will be permitted. Now let’s get the fuck out of here!” she snapped at Langston, then turned on her heel and walked away. 

Growling in fury, Langston grabbed Alec by the back of his neck, sinking in his claws. Then he turned and followed Morrell, dragging Alec with him. The rest of his pack trailed after him, eyes still wide in shock. As they rounded the corner of the bleachers, Alphonse turned back and stared at Derek for a heartbeat. Then he, too, was gone.

There was a long silence.

Jackson spoke first. “What. _The fuck_. Just happened?”

Derek turned around. “Scott,” he ordered. “Take Stiles home and keep him there. No,” he added sternly, when Stiles started to gesture at him. He cupped Stiles’ face in his hands again. “I need you to go home,” he said. “I need to know that you’re safe.”

Stiles looked at Derek, searching his eyes, then nodded reluctantly.

“Good boy.” Derek kissed his forehead, then gently propelled him into Scott’s arms.

“Come on, buddy,” Scott said, tugging at him. Stiles looked back over his shoulder at Derek, but allowed himself to be towed away.

Derek turned to Jackson. “You and Boyd get in your cars and follow the Winters,” he ordered. “We’re going to escort those bastards to the border. I want every last member of Langston’s pack off our land in twenty minutes, or there’ll be blood. Isaac, Erica,” he turned to the other two as Boyd and Jackson took off running. “Call Allison and Lydia. Have them shadow us. Then do what you need to do to clean up here. I’ll follow Boyd and Jackson, then come back to check on you. Got it?”

“On it,” Erica replied. Then she and Isaac ran after the others. 

When he was finally alone, Derek stood for a moment, shoulders hunched, clenching and unclenching his fists until he got his breathing under control.

The pack had survived, he told himself.

His pack had _won_.


	32. Chapter 32

The next hour was agony. Derek’s wolf was torn between wanting to rip every member of the Winter pack to bloody shreds, and wanting to go home and claim his mate. His blood pounded with both instincts, and he had to fight against an almost overwhelming urge to shift.

He caught up with Boyd and Jackson, and together they watched as Langston’s van crossed the county line. Technically, the other wolves were still on Hale territory, but they were allowed an hour to retreat before it could be considered a treaty violation. Judging by the speed the van was traveling, the Winters were wasting no time in getting the hell out of Dodge.

Derek’s wolf howled in disappointment as the van disappeared around a bend, and he briefly considered getting back in the Camaro and driving that damn VW off the road and into a ravine. A nice, deep ravine, with sharp boulders that would rip the van open like a tin of sardines, laying the passengers out in a tempting, juicy buffet.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Derek started.

“They’re not worth it, Boss,” Boyd said.

Derek shook his head, retracting his fangs. “I know,” he admitted. A thought made him frown. “If any of them try to come back—”

“We’re on it,” Boyd said, nodding his head toward Jackson. “We’re gonna patrol for a few hours, just to be sure.” He nudged Derek’s shoulder and grinned. “You go home and take care of business.”

“Dude,” Jackson groaned. “We said we weren’t going to talk about that.”

Boyd’s grin grew wider. “What can I say? I’m a romantic.”

Derek blushed. Boyd gave him a gentle shove toward the car.

“Go on, git,” he said. “We’ll call if there’s trouble.”

“Okay.” Still blushing, Derek hurried for the Camaro, cursing when his hands shook so hard he dropped his keys. 

He stopped by the practice field on the way home. The lacrosse equipment was packed away, and the picnic remains cleared off. Erica, Isaac, Allison, and Lydia lounged in the grass, reeking of contentment and pride as they finished off the last of the Passionate Pumpkin Spiced Ale. They stared at Derek in surprise when he strolled up, except for Isaac, who lay with his head resting in Allison’s lap, smiling in contentment as she combed through his curls with her fingers.

“What are you even doing here?” Erica asked.

Derek shrugged. “I wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

“Best Alpha ever,” Isaac slurred without opening his eyes. “Best pack EVER.”

Derek smiled. “I also felt bad for leaving you two to clean up.”

“Don’t worry.” Erica lazily waved her hand. “We’re all over that. You should be all over Stiles.” She giggled at her own joke.

Derek sighed as the other girls joined in the tittering. “The Winters are gone, but Boyd and Jackson are—”

“Patrolling.” Allison held up her cell phone. “We were just about to join them. Don’t worry, we got it covered.”

Derek frowned. “You’ve been drinking.”

Lydia held up her cup. “Water,” she said. “I’m driving. Now go on.” She waved imperiously at Derek. “You have my blessing.”

Even Isaac joined in the giggling as Derek strode to his car, trying to maintain his dignity even as Erica hooted, “Nice ass, Boss!” 

Derek rolled down the windows on the drive home, hoping the fresh air would cool his heated skin. The killing rage faded the further he got from the playing field, which still stank of the Winter pack. Now, only Stiles’ scent lingered, making Derek’s head buzz with desire. He accelerated up the winding road that led to Hale House, leaving the posted speed limit in the dust, and pulled into the driveway in a spray of gravel.

But any thought he had of rushing into the house and sweeping his mate into his arms died as he saw the final member of his pack standing on the front porch with his arms folded and his feet planted, as fierce and unyielding as a watchdog.

Scott McCall.

Scott watched Derek steadily as he walked up to the porch, his feet crunching loudly on the gravel path. 

“Derek,” he said evenly as Derek reached the steps.

“Scott,” Derek replied in kind.

“I took Stiles to the ER,” Scott informed him. “My mom was on duty, so she made sure he got an x-ray. His wrist isn’t broken, but it’s sprained pretty bad. He won’t be able to write or text for a while, but it’ll heal.”

Derek let out a breath. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Now I won’t have to kill Alec. Although I still want to.”

He tried a smile, but Scott just looked at him flatly. Derek fought the urge to shift from foot to foot.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Derek?” 

“Scott.” Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have a plan, okay? I just want to talk to Stiles about what happened.”

Scott’s chin jutted even more mulishly than usual. “I’m not gonna let you hurt him. And I’m not just talking about his wrist.”

Derek placed a hand on his chest. “Believe me, Scott. The last thing I want to do is hurt Stiles.”

“But you will.”

Derek felt a spike of rage, and knew his eyes were flashing red. His wolf snarled at the interruption—this impudent pup was keeping him from his chosen mate. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Scott stepped closer, ignoring Derek’s warning growl, and his voice became uncharacteristically sarcastic. “What are you gonna do about your _girlfriend_ , Derek?”

Derek felt a spurt of guilt when he realized it was the first time he’d even thought of Kate since Stiles’ lips had touched his. He felt another spurt when his next words slipped from him as easily as breathing. “I’ll break it off with her.”

Scott tilted his head in disbelief.

“I will,” Derek insisted.

“Yeah, right,” Scott snorted. “How’s your family going to feel about that?”

Derek folded his arms, ignoring the small chill that went through him at the thought. “They won’t be happy, but they can’t stop me.”

Scott looked dubious. 

Derek moved closer to the steps. “Scott, if someone told you that you shouldn’t be with Allison, would that stop you?”

Scott looked away. “No,” he said finally. “It’s just…Stiles has been through a lot.”

“I know that.” 

“No, you don’t. He’s different now.” Scott shook his head, his eyes distant. “I wish you could have known him back then, before everything happened.” He smiled at the memory. “He literally never shut up. I mean he talked _all the time_.”

“Scott,” Derek said quietly.

Scott stared down at his shoes.

“I wasn’t looking for this to happen,” Derek said honestly. “But I’m not gonna to walk away from it either. Can you blame me? You’ve found your mate. You know what this feels like.”

“Yeah.” Scott sighed again. “I get it.”

“I just want to talk to Stiles. Whatever happens after that is up to him.”

Scott squinted at Derek. “You swear?”

Derek placed his hand on his chest again. “I swear.”

Scott huffed out a breath and stared up at the trees for a moment. “Fine,” he said at last. “But I’ll be watching you.”

“I’d expect no less,” Derek said as he walked up the steps. “Speaking of watching—”

“Yeah, yeah, patrolling,” Scott said. “I got the text. I’m on it.” 

“Scott.” Derek rested his hand on his shoulder for a moment. He felt Scott tense, then reluctantly relax. “If you see any one from Langston’s crew…”

“Yeah?” Scott squinted up at him again.

“Kill ‘em.”

Scott stared at Derek for a moment. Then his lips stretched into a feral smile. “On it,” he said. He turned and leapt off the porch. He hit the ground running, already shifted into his wolf form, then disappeared into the trees.

Derek stood for a moment, gathering every last shred of self-control he possessed. Scott was right, he told himself firmly. Stiles was human, not werewolf, and therefore fragile. This wasn’t going to go the way Derek’s wolf was expecting: A glorious, if brutally fast, claiming. Despite the moment of recognition he’d felt—they’d both felt—this wasn’t going to be simple or easy. Above all else, Derek needed to let Stiles set the pace.

Derek let out a deep breath, then opened the door and went inside his house to find his mate.

***

The house was silent, eerily so. The usual dull roar of teenagers was gone, replaced by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of the clock on the mantelpiece in Derek’s study. As Derek listened, the clock gently chimed the hour. The sun was starting to set, taming the bright afternoon light to a more subdued golden glow, while a quiet breeze rustled the curtains.

Derek paused to sniff the air, easily picking up Stiles’ scent. He followed it upstairs, surprised when it didn’t continue up to Stiles’ hidey hole in the attic.

Instead, it stopped at the door of Derek’s bedroom.

Derek turned the door handle with a sweaty palm and eased the door open.

Stiles sat cross-legged and barefoot in the center of Derek’s bed. He was staring down at his cell phone while gnawing nervously on his thumbnail. He had changed into a clean pair of jeans but was still wearing Derek’s T-shirt, even though it was stained with blood, and his right forearm was wrapped in a stark white bandage. The claw marks on his neck lingered, although Derek could smell the sting of antiseptic in the air and knew the wounds had been cleaned and tended to.

The thought of Alec inflicting those wounds brought back Derek’s rage, and he instinctively let out a low growl.

Stiles’ head came up and he stared at Derek, his eyes wide and his lips forming a perfect ‘O’ – just like the very first time Derek had seen him, striding impatiently into Hale House as if he owned the place.

For a moment, both were perfectly still.

Then Stiles scrambled off the bed and launched himself at Derek.

Derek caught Stiles in his arms and the next thing he knew, they were kissing frantically, Stiles’ fingers tugging at Derek’s hair and his long legs wrapped around Derek’s waist.

Derek tightened his grip, cupping one hand under the curve of Stiles’ ass and the other around the back of his neck, then kicked the bedroom door closed with his foot and strode toward the bed.

As the blood rapidly left his brain and headed to more interesting places further south, one final thought managed to work its way to the surface. 

Maybe this was going to be simple and easy after all.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: ADULT CONTENT AHEAD! TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY!

Unfortunately, things grew complicated almost immediately.

Halfway to the bed, Derek hitched Stiles higher in his grasp, the better to palm his ass. The movement jarred Stiles’ injured arm, and he let out a whimper that went straight to Derek’s heart. (Although the pain didn’t seem to slow Stiles’ enthusiasm for kissing.)

Even as Derek cursed himself for clumsiness, he stumbled, and Stiles let out another yelp. Derek ended up sitting abruptly in the arm chair with Stiles straddling his lap, which only increased Derek’s agony.

“Shit! I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—Stiles, we need to—Okay, just hang on a second!”

With difficulty, because Stiles was clingier than a spider monkey, Derek managed to clamp both hands on Stiles’ head and pull him back, Stiles whimpering in protest rather than pain. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asked. “Did I hurt you?”

Staring at Derek’s mouth, Stiles breathlessly shook his head, then attacked Derek’s lips again.

“Mmph! Stiles—We should—Okay, not that I don’t want to—Stiles, wait!”

Stiles huffed impatiently as Derek pulled him away again. His face was flushed, his lips red and swollen from kissing, his pupils blown.

“Just hang on a second,” Derek ordered.

Stiles hesitated. His eyes grew wide and vulnerable, and he gestured hesitantly toward himself.

“No, I want to,” Derek replied, smoothing Stiles’ hair with his hand. “Believe me, I really, really, _really_ want to.” He closed his eyes, desperately trying to will away his erection. “We just need to talk—Stop that!” he barked, his eyes flying open when Stiles reached down to caress him. 

Stiles managed to pout and scowl at the same time, but pulled his hand back.

“That’s better,” Derek said firmly. “Before this goes any further, I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Stiles huffed again, rolling his eyes impatiently, but sat back further on Derek’s thighs, easing the pressure on his groin.

Derek’s wolf whined in protest, but Derek managed to speak evenly. “Thank you. Now may I see your arm, please?”

Stiles reluctantly held out his injured arm. Derek took it in both his hands, his veins growing black as he automatically began pulling the pain. 

“It’s not broken,” he murmured. “It should heal just fine.” Scott had told him so, of course, but Derek needed to make sure for himself. He moved his hand to Stiles’ neck, gently tilting his head to one side so he could examine the claw marks. What he saw made his lips curl back in a snarl.

“That son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I should have killed him for this.”

Stiles placed his hand over Derek’s and slid it further down his neck, to where Derek’s bite showed underneath the collar of his shirt. Understanding, Derek palmed the mark. Stiles closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, tilting his head further, baring the long, pale column of his neck.

Derek felt his body stir to life again. Impatiently, he tugged Stiles’ collar down further, exposing his collarbone. He pressed his lips to the mark, then suckled it luxuriously, laving it with his tongue and nipping at it with his teeth. Stiles fingers moved to Derek’s hair, clutching painfully, and his whimper this time was pure pleasure.

Growling, Derek whipped his other arm around Stiles, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head back further. He bit gently, then sniffed Stiles’ skin, happily breathing in his mate’s distinctive scent. 

Another smell invaded Derek’s senses, and he growled again, this time in anger. It was Alec’s, he realized, clinging to the fabric of Stiles’ shirt.

“Take this off,” he ordered, tugging at the material. “It stinks of him. Easy,” he added, as Stiles moved quickly to obey, heedless of his injured arm. 

“Easy,” Derek said again. “Let me do it.” He ripped the shirt in half, then carefully pulled the pieces over Stiles’ head so wouldn’t have to raise his arm.

“Oh, God,” he exclaimed helplessly as Stiles’ bare chest emerged, pale but perfect. “Oh, God. Baby.”

Stiles grinned and grabbed Derek’s shirt, tugging impatiently at the hem.

“Okay, okay. Hang on.” Derek pulled the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. Stile’ eyes widened, and the flush in his cheeks grew.

Derek forced himself to keep his hands quiet and let Stiles look his fill. He reached forward tentatively, then pulled his hand back, glancing up at Derek.

“It’s okay,” Derek said, although it was taking every ounce of his control to hold still. 

Biting his lip, Stiles reached forward and placed his hand on Derek’s chest, over his heart.

Derek shivered and closed his eyes as he felt the emotions flooding him—an overwhelming sense of warmth, of rightness, of home. He felt drunk on the sensation and at the same time, grounded.

Stiles took Derek’s hand and placed it over his own heart. The emotions intensified, a strong current of energy flowing between them.

Derek gasped, and his eyes flew open. “You feel it, too?” he asked.

Stiles nodded, his dark eyes serious. 

“Are you scared?” Derek whispered.

Stiles hesitated, then nodded again. 

“So am I,” Derek admitted.

Stiles bit his lip again. Slowly, he moved his hand from Derek’s chest to his head. He stroked the hair at his temple, then ran his finger down Derek’s cheek, feeling his stubble. His expression was fond and at the same time, reverent. 

Finally, Stiles touched his forefinger to Derek’s lips and raised his eyes to Derek’s.

Keeping their eyes locked, he clambered off Derek’s lap and backed toward the bed, pulling Derek with him.

“Are you sure?” Derek asked.

Stiles tugged harder, surprisingly strong, and Derek tumbled down on top of him on the bed.

They kissed desperately, mouths wet and wild. Stiles hands were _everywhere_ —circling Derek’s wrists, scratching down his back, gripping his ass. At the same time, his body writhed sinuously under Derek’s, and Derek could feel his hardness pressing against his hip.

Derek’s wolf howled in triumph. Swearing with impatience, he flipped Stiles over on his stomach and grabbed the waistband of his jeans, swearing again as his fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons. With one firm movement, he tugged down Stiles’ jeans and boxers to his thighs, baring his ass.

His mouth went dry at the sight.

Still, he raised his hand and brought it down in three sharp slaps.

“That’s for disobeying me,” he said when Stiles glared at him over his shoulder. “You could have been killed today, do you get that?”

Stiles scowled ferociously and tried to squirm away. Derek took advantage of the movement to yank his jeans further down, almost to his ankles. Then he gripped Stiles hips, slid him back into place, and spanked him a few more times for good measure.

“I’m not going to lose you because you take stupid risks,” he said. “The next time I give you a direct order, you obey me, understand?”

In response, Stiles pulled a pillow over his head, buried his face in the sheets, and growled in fury.

Derek laughed. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said fondly. Then he spread Stiles’ cheeks with his hands and licked a long stripe from his balls to his opening, teasing him with his tongue.

Stiles gave a muffled shriek and his hips bucked. 

Derek laughed again and kissed Stiles’ lower back.

“Gonna open you up,” he muttered against his skin. “Gonna slide my thick cock inside you and make you mine. Nobody else will touch you ever again.”

Stiles’ hips bucked again, and he let out a whine.

“Do you want that?” Derek asked, abruptly remembering that Stiles was virgin. His wolf snarled in impatience, urging Derek to _TAKE TAKE TAKE_. 

Instead, he grasped Stiles’ hips and rolled him over on his back again. Stiles blinked up at him. 

“Is that what you want?” Derek asked, his heart in his mouth. 

Stiles nodded. When Derek still hesitated, he grabbed his hand and placed it over his heart. Despite his elevated heart rate, the beat was strong and steady.

Derek felt a smile break over his face. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. We’ll go slow. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Stiles nodded again and smiled, his eyes full of trust.

The sight made it easier for Derek to slow down. There was no way he was going to abuse that hard-won faith. 

He slid his hand down Stiles’ chest to his navel, then followed the dark trail of hair further, until he grasped his firm, jutting cock. Like the rest of Stiles, it fit perfectly in Derek’s hand, like it had been made just for him. The skin was even softer than Stiles’ lips, and fever-hot.

Derek closed his hand around it and slid up and down, feeling an answering ache in his own cock. Stiles’ eyes closed at Derek’s touch, and he arched his back, pressing his length further into Derek’s hand. His arms fell open to both sides, and his hands scrabbled helplessly, twisting in the sheets. His mouth hung open, and his lips were red and moist. Derek had to press a hand to his own erection to avoid coming like a teenager just at the sight of him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Derek murmured. “So beautiful and all mine. I want to watch you like this. I want to watch you come.”

With a harsh breath, Stiles’ eyes flew open. Instinctively, he grabbed Derek’s wrist, stopping his movement. At the same time, his body surged backward, frantically trying to get away from him. His heartbeat soared, and he stared at Derek in sheer terror.

“Oh, shit,” Derek breathed.

He remembered their conversation that rainy night, Stiles scribbling in his notebook and turning the page so Derek could read his answers, trusting that he would never use the information against him, trusting that Derek would always keep him _safe_.

Derek could see the words now, as clearly as if they were still written on a page in front of him.

_Peter_

_Liked_

_To_

_Watch_

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Derek said again.


	34. Chapter 34

_WARNING: ADULT CONTENT AHEAD! TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY!_

***

The next week was agony. The pack was unsettled and, judging by their phone calls, bewildered.

“What the hell happened?” Scott bellowed on Monday, so loudly that Derek had to hold the phone away from his ear.

“Nothing happened.” Derek paused in pacing the front porch. “What does Stiles say happened?”

“He says nothing happened. Beyond that he’s not saying shit.” Scott sounded clearly put out. “But I know him, and I know when he’s upset. I told you not to hurt him!” he bellowed again.

“I know, and I swear I didn’t want to.”

Scott gave a heavy sigh. “I guess probably for the best, with what’s-her-face in the picture and all. And I get it that you wanna do right by your family. But for Christ’s sake, you couldn’t let Stiles down easy?”

Derek closed his eyes. “I tried. I swear to God I tried.”

_For a moment, Derek and Stiles stared at each other in shock._

_I’m just like him, Derek thought numbly. I’m just like Peter._

_“I’m sorry,” he stammered._

_As if for the first time, his eyes took in the sight of a teenager sprawled in his bed, half-naked and thoroughly debauched._

_Derek felt his stomach clench with nausea. He quickly grasped Stiles’ boxers and jeans and pulled them up his waist, covering him. As he did so, his fingertips brushed Stiles’ skin. Stiles flinched, turning his head away, and a sharp note of fear spiked his familiar scent._

_Derek jerked his hand back like he’d been burned._

_“I’m sorry,” he said miserably._

_Stiles sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then wrapped his arms around his bare torso, shivering._

_“Cold,” Derek said. “You’re cold.” He lunged for Stiles’ shirt on the floor, then realized it was ripped in half._

_“Dammit!” Derek flung the shirt away and scrambled for his own. He hesitated, wanting to help Stiles pull it on because of his injured arm but not wanting to touch him again. He ended up throwing the shirt across the room and grabbing the soft woolen blanket folded at the foot of the bed._

_He shook the blanket out and carefully approached Stiles, waiting for his nod of permission before he draped the blanket over his shoulders. Stiles pulled it closer around him, still avoiding Derek’s gaze._

_“Water.” Derek said desperately. “You want some water?”_

_Stiles nodded, and Derek lurched for the bathroom. His wolf was howling in fury at being interrupted in its claiming, and his hand shook as he held the water glass under the tap, but he managed to carry it back to the bedroom with a minimum of spillage._

_“Here,” he said, kneeling between Stiles’ legs. “Drink this.” He paused, biting his lip. “And then we’ll talk, okay?”_

_Still not looking Derek in the eye, Stiles nodded._

Remembering, Derek winced. “It’s for the best,” he said firmly.

“Are you sure?” Erica asked. Her voice over the phone sounded forlorn.

Derek paused in scrambling some eggs—his pathetic attempt at cooking. It was Tuesday evening, but he was alone. None of the pack had chosen to stay at the house that week.

“Derek?”

“I’m here.”

Erica sniffed. “It’s just…it seems like it would be good for everyone. You, Stiles, the pack. One big happy, you know?”

“I know, honey,” Derek said. “But I have to do what’s right.”

Erica sighed. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

Surprised, Derek blushed. “Thanks,” he mumbled. 

Erica’s voice reverted to more of her normal tone. “We all love you, you big weirdo,” she said. “But I’m supposed to tell you from Isaac that he’s not speaking to you ever again.”

Derek sighed. “Got it.”

_Derek watched carefully as Stiles sipped the water, then set the glass aside._

_“Better?” Derek asked._

_Stiles nodded. The fear had faded from his scent, replaced by shame and the salty sting of tears._

_Derek’s wolf was going crazy at being in such close proximity again, torn between wanting to comfort his mate’s distress and the darker urge to claim what was his. He called on every grounding technique he knew, every ounce of hard-won self-control, and managed to keep his voice low and even._

_“Stiles,” he said. “Look at me. Please look at me.”_

_Stiles dabbed away tears with his wrist, then reluctantly lifted his eyes to Derek’s. He looked vulnerable and wrecked._

_“I would never,” Derek whispered. “You have to know I would NEVER—”_

_Stiles pressed a finger to Derek’s lips, silencing him. Then he turned and looked around him, shoving aside the sheets. Derek realized he was looking for his phone._

_Derek spotted it under the bed, although he had no memory of how it got there. He pulled it out and handed it to Stiles._

_“Here,” he said. “Talk to me.”_

_Stiles attempted to type, then hissed in frustration. Derek remembered Scott telling him that Stiles’ injured wrist made it painful to text._

_“Wait,” he said. He pushed aside several books on his bedside table until he found a notebook and pen he kept for to-do lists._

_“Try this.” Derek held his breath as Stiles tried to write, although the effort was clearly hurting him. He stubbornly switched the pen to his left hand and wrote in large, clumsy, and painstaking letters, then held the page up for Derek to read._

_UR NOT PETER_

_“I would be,” Derek said. “If we’d kept going.”_

_Stiles shook his head and scrawled on the page again._

_DIFRENT WANT U_

_“Stiles,” Derek said gently. “You’re seventeen years old. I’m an adult. It’s not right.”_

_DONT CARE_

_“I do.”_

_Stiles scribbled some more, fiercely underlining two words._

_DONT LUV HER U LUV ME_

_Derek rubbed his eyes. “It’s not about Kate, okay?”_

_Stiles folded his arms and glared at the wall._

_“Hey,” Derek said softly. He didn’t dare touch Stiles for fear he’d lose control, but he grasped the edges of the blanket and tugged gently. “Hey, pup, talk to me.”_

Stiles huffed out an angry breath, then grabbed the pen again and scrawled on the page. 

_U GON MARY HER?_

_“No,” Derek said. “I’m not.”_

_Stiles looked up, hope in his eyes. He took Derek’s hand and placed it over his heart, then reached out and palmed Derek’s chest in the same place._

_“Yeah,” Derek said, as he felt the energy flow between them. “Now that I know what this feels like, I can’t be with Kate. I wouldn’t be happy, and it wouldn’t be fair to her.” He gently pulled Stiles’ hand away from his chest. “But that doesn’t change the problem with us.”_

_Stiles glared at Derek for a long moment, then lunged forward and kissed him._

_This time Derek was the one who whimpered._

Boyd didn’t say anything, but his silence spoke volumes.

“I just thought it was better to put the brakes on, you know?” Derek said, as they patrolled the preserve on Wednesday night. “Before things got complicated.”

Boyd kept walking but didn’t answer. The moon was low, making the woods dark and calm and cool. Boyd’s expression was similarly non-committal.

“Not that they aren’t already complicated,” Derek found himself babbling. “It’s just…this whole thing took us completely by surprise.”

“You and nobody else,” Jackson muttered.

Derek stopped walking and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Seriously, dude? You and Stilinski? Totally obvious from the get-go.”

Derek looked at Boyd, who shrugged in acknowledgement.

“Pretty obvious,” he said. “From the get-go.”

“It wasn’t obvious to me,” Derek murmured. “If it had been I would have done things differently. I would have,” he insisted when Boyd raised an eyebrow. 

“Uh-huh.”

Derek scowled. “You know what this feels like,” he told Boyd. “The last thing you’d want to do is hurt Erica, right? I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than hurt Stiles.”

“Rejection hurts,” Boyd pointed out quietly.

Derek sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

Boyd clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically, and they started walking again, trudging up a small rise.

Jackson followed, shaking his head. “Like I always say, it sucks to be Stilinski.”

At the crest of the hill, Boyd stiffened. “You smell that?”

Derek sniffed the gentle night breeze, and his canines emerged, tearing through his gums. He growled, feeling his chest vibrate with rage as his claws slid through his skin. “Another wolf,” he hissed. “On our territory.”

The scent was familiar, but not, and the puzzle only increased Derek’s wrath. With a howl, he shifted and tore through the woods, feeling Boyd and Jackson at his heels. The scent was easy to follow—if Derek had been more clear-headed, he might have realized it was too easy. The other wolf hadn’t even tried to mask its odor, or take a roundabout route through the preserve. Instead, it had strolled directly, brazenly, to the center of Derek’s woods. 

The wolf was close, Derek thought through the red haze that filled his mind. 

Closer…

Still closer…

Derek reached the crest of a hill and looked down on a tiny valley—basically a divot among the rocks and trees—that lay like a bowl at his feet. It was a poor choice for the intruder to make a stand, yet there it was, a huge, reddish-brown wolf with a thick black ruff.

Boyd and Jackson instantly fanned out, following the lip of the valley, until the intruder was defenseless on all sides.

Derek’s lips curled back over his teeth and he was about to charge when the other wolf shifted. Once in human form, he instantly dropped to his knees, holding his hands up as if at gunpoint, and tilted his neck in submission. As he did, his long black hair fell to the side, revealing his face.

Surprised, Derek half-shifted. “Edgerton,” he growled.

Alphonse bent his head in greeting, but didn’t meet Derek’s eyes.

“Alpha, I beg mercy,” he said. “Hear my plea.”

Derek hesitated, then shifted into human form. It left him more vulnerable, and judging by Boyd and Jackson’s growls, they weren’t happy about it.

“Hold your positions,” he ordered. “If he moves, kill him.”

They obeyed, although Derek could sense their reluctance. Boyd edged closer down the slope, showing his teeth, while Jackson trotted back and forth around the rim of the bowl, ready to attack from any position should Edgerton try to escape.

Derek carefully made his way down the steep slope, stopping about six feet away from Alphonse. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I seek temporary asylum,” Alphonse replied, still keeping his face averted from Derek’s. There was definitely something odd about his scent.

“Show your face.”

Alphonse’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he raised his head. Even in the dim light, Derek could easily see the livid gash cut slantwise across his face. It was partially healed, but Derek could tell at a glance that it would never go away.

“Langston did that.”

Alphonse inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Why?” 

“Things went wrong,” Alphonse said simply. “Someone had to pay.”

Derek wasn’t surprised at the answer. Like Alphonse said, someone had to pay for the screw-up at the parliament, and Alec was kin to Langston. 

That was the difference in Alphonse’s scent, Derek realized. He no longer smelled like Langston, and judging by another gash on his neck, just under the collar of his shirt, the Alpha’s mark had been erased. He’d been exiled from the pack.

Derek gave a curt nod to Alphonse, and the other wolf lowered his arms, although he remained kneeling.

“What do you want from me?”

“I know I can’t ask for a place in your pack,” Alphonse said. “Not when my former pack was involved in an attack on your mate.”

Derek bristled. He’d been holding himself in check, but only just. His wolf longed to sink his teeth deep into the other wolf’s neck and shake him dead—then do the same with every member of Langston’s crew, past or present, as punishment for hurting Stiles.

“You’re right,” he said stiffly. “You can’t. So I ask again, what do you want from me?”

Alphonse’s eyes were weary, and his scent spoke of exhaustion bordering on despair. “I merely seek temporary asylum,” he said. “I need time to figure out my next move. One week, no more, on your land, Alpha.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “You’re asking for rogue status.”

Alphonse nodded. “Precisely. You'll have no responsibility for my safety. If others kill me, they need not answer to you for my blood.”

A distant howl rang through the night, followed by a second one further off.

Boyd half-shifted, listening, while Jackson whined anxiously.

“It’s Erica and Scott,” Boyd told Derek. “They want to know if we need back-up.”

Derek thought for a moment, then shook his head. 

“We’re fine here,” he said. 

Boyd looked dubious, but Jackson sent a series of yips in the air. After a few seconds, they were returned by Scott and Erica. Their calls faded away, leaving only the night song of the woods.

Derek turned back to Alphonse. “Your request is granted,” he said. 

Alphonse placed both hands on his knees and bowed his head. “Thank you, Alpha.”

Derek turned and scrambled up the slope, then paused at the top. Jackson and Boyd, back in wolf form, wound gratefully around his legs, scenting him. Derek ran his hands through their fur until they calmed.

“Alphonse,” he said.

Alphonse looked up, his eyes bright even in the darkness.

“You have a background in law enforcement, yes?”

Alphonse hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“I hear the Beacon Hills sheriff’s department is hiring,” Derek said. “They lost several deputies last year and are looking for good candidates. You should give them a try.”

He could see Alphonse’s shoulders sag in relief as he realized what Derek was offering. “I will,” he replied. “Good hunting, Alpha.”

Derek nodded, then turned and shifted. He ran for at least a mile, Boyd and Jackson in his wake. As always, it helped to cool the fever in his blood. But the encounter with a member of Langston’s pack, albeit a former one, had only re-kindled the mating urge he’d felt with Stiles, that simultaneous burning need to both protect and claim. Holding it in check was the hardest thing Derek had ever done.

_Stiles bore Derek to the floor, kissing him the whole way, his mouth so wet and willing it made tears spring to Derek’s eyes. Their limbs tangled as they kissed, and Derek felt his hands clutching Stiles’ waist, then his hips, then sliding still lower to cup his ass. Stiles responded to his touch, wantonly pressing his hips into Derek’s._

_“Oh, God,” Derek gasped against Stiles’ lips as he felt his erection make a welcome return. “God, Stiles, we can’t—“_

_Stiles shook his head in protest and sat up, then slid two fingers inside Derek’s mouth. He watched as Derek laved them eagerly with his tongue, even though part of his brain was screaming at him to stop. He caught Stiles' long, clever hand in his own, pulled his fingers out of his mouth, and bent his hand backward, nibbling at the exposed palm. Stiles’ eyes widened at the sensation, then darkened a shade, and he bit his lip. He flung back his head and ground down against Derek, then—_

_“STOP!” Derek bellowed. “Stop it!”_

_He sat up, shoving Stiles off him. Stiles fell backward and hit the bed frame with a thump. The bedside table wobbled, causing the glass to fall off and shatter against the floor._

_Undeterred, Stiles lurched forward again, reaching for Derek’s heart._

_“No!” Derek slapped his hand away, scrambling backward. His back hit the bedroom wall, but it was too late._

_With a triumphant howl, his wolf broke through, the shift rippling through Derek’s body in a heartbeat._

_NOW! the wolf shrieked. CLAIM! TAKE!_

“Lydia,” Derek said patiently on Thursday morning, into the persistent, icy silence at the other end of the line. “I know it’s you.”

No reply.

“Lydia, I have caller ID.”

Now there was a faint muttering. Then Allison came on the line.

“Derek? Lydia says she’s not speaking to you.”

“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that.” Derek ran his hand over his eyes, which were weary from perusing spreadsheets. “I’m at work right now, so could we talk—”

“Why did you do it?”

Derek sighed. “Don’t tell me Scott never pushed you away to protect you.”

“He tried," Allison said. "But I didn’t let him.”

“Things are a little more complicated with Stiles and me.”

“Is it the human thing? Because I’m human and Scott’s a wolf, and we get along just fine. And the mating thing? Is awesome. Let me tell you, there have been times—”

Derek’s eyestrain was rapidly turning into a headache.

“Please, Allison,” he interrupted. “Don’t tell me.”

“It’s Lydia,” she said crisply. Apparently she had snatched the phone back.

“Whichever,” Derek said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“We have study hall.”

“So go study.”

“We’re not finished with this conversation, Der—”

Derek hung up. Then he scrubbed his face with his hands, rose from his desk, and stumbled to the kitchen for more coffee. It was a rainy morning, and the gloom only made his body ache more. He longed to curl up in his bed and let the gentle patter of the rain in the trees lull him to sleep.

The problem was, his bed still smelled of Stiles, making it impossible to sleep. It turned out that the pain and restlessness Derek felt when separated from his pack worsened threefold when it came to his mate. Despite that, Derek couldn’t bring himself to change the sheets. He knew it was maudlin, but Stiles’ scent on them was comforting, even as it brought madness.

Derek sighed. He wanted to call Laura, to confess everything and ask for her counsel. But he knew her reaction would be one of horror. To claim an Omega for one’s personal use was one thing, but a Hale falling in love with one, let alone a human and a witch? Unthinkable.

Derek knew he would have to confess at some point, if only to break off his engagement with Kate. The thought of the shitstorm that would cause only redoubled his headache, until it felt as if a sharp spike were being driven through his temple.

No, he needed time to heal, he decided, before he took on his family and the endless weight of their expectations. A week, Derek told himself. Just a week to get his head on straight and then he would be ready to face his Alpha. In the meantime, he still needed to act like a responsible member of the pack and that, unfortunately, meant analyzing spreadsheets.

Determined, Derek headed back to his office, only to be brought up short by the sight of the cellar door, tucked away beneath the stairs in the darkened hallway. 

Derek flinched at the sight, remembering.

_With a roar, Derek punched through a bookcase to his right, one he’d installed in the bedroom to help house Stiles’ collection of wolf lore. It shattered beneath his fist, sending splintered wood and torn pages everywhere._

_Alarmed, Stiles cowered, flinging up his arms to protect himself. The fear returned to his scent._

_Derek swung out his other arm and slammed it backward, feeling his claws bite deep into the plaster of the wall. He was now wedged into the corner of the room, arms spread, bare feet braced against the floor, chest heaving with the effort to hold himself back._

_“Stiles,” he hissed through his fangs. “Stiles, listen to me.” Knowing he had only a few seconds of coherence left, he kept his eyes on the floor, trying to hold out as long as possible._

_“Go downstairs as fast as you can,” he ordered._

_“Don’t run!” he added in a hiss as he heard Stiles scramble to his feet. “You’ll trigger me. Walk, as quickly and as quietly as you can. Lock yourself in the cellar and don’t come out for any reason, do you understand me? No matter what I say, no matter how hard I beg. GO!”_

_Derek held his breath as he sensed Stiles’ movement. His muscles strained and his hands shook with effort to hold himself still and not follow as his tantalizing scent retreated_

_There were a few seconds of blessed silence._

_Then a board creaked on the stairs._

_It was too much._

_Derek’s control broke. With a howl, he launched himself at the door._

_Fortunately, Stiles was fast. When Derek reached the top of the stairs, he caught a glimpse of the boy disappearing around the corner._

_Derek leapt the full flight of stairs, but just as he reached Stiles, his arm outstretched to grab his prey and haul him backward, Stiles managed to wrench the cellar door open and dart inside. Derek heard the bolt shoot home._

_Every werewolf house had such an arrangement: A cellar that locked from both sides. If wolves struggled with control, their fellow pack members could lock them inside at the full moon—or lock themselves inside for protection._

_Now Derek threw himself at the door over and over again, roaring in fury, but it wouldn’t give. He scrabbled at the metal with his claws, but it had no effect. He could hear his mate sobbing in the darkness below and pleaded with him to open the door, but the bolt remained firm._

_Finally, Derek beat his head against the door until it was bloody, screaming with mingled rage, frustration, and sorrow, then collapsed in human form, crying and begging for relief._

_When darkness fell, he gave up. With a final roar, he wolfed out, burst through the front door, and ran off into the night._

Friday afternoon, Derek gave up and flung his laptop across the room. It sailed like a Frisbee and smashed into pieces against the stone fireplace. Derek stalked out of his office, grabbed his keys, and drove off. Rainy season had officially arrived, and it was pouring like a son-of-a-bitch, making the gravel roads slippery and dangerous, but Derek set his sights for Beacon Hills. 

He needed advice and he needed it _now_.


	35. Chapter 35

It was still pouring and near dark when Derek pulled up at the vet clinic. Since were no other cars in the parking lot, he assumed there were no customers, so he was brought up short in the waiting room by the sight of a small red-haired boy sitting in the waiting area. His blue eyes were teary and he held a fluffy reddish hamster in his lap, the animal chittering in terror as Derek entered.

Deaton, who sat next to the boy, looked up from examining the hamster and frowned slightly at Derek.

“Mister…Hale, isn’t it?” he said politely. “I believe we met once at a lacrosse game.”

“That’s right,” Derek said, belatedly remembering his cover story as Beacon Hills’ newest resident.

Deaton’s expression remained polite but distant. “How may I help you?”

Aware of the child’s curious eyes on him, Derek hesitated. 

“Uhhh…dog,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “I’d like to get a dog. I live alone in the woods,” he added. “I should get a watchdog.”

“Your timing is excellent,” Deaton replied coolly. “I have several rescues in the back in need of homes. Why don’t you go take a look while I finish up with Roger here?” 

Dismissing Derek, he turned back to his patient, pulled his stethoscope from around his neck, put the earphones in, and pressed the plate to the hamster’s side. The animal calmed instantly under his gentle, steady fingers.

Not sure if Roger was the boy or the hamster, Derek obediently walked past the main desk. He could hear the other animals in the clinic shifting and whining uneasily as they caught his scent. He avoided the room where they were kept, choosing instead to wait in the office/kitchen area at the back of the building, where he paced the floor impatiently.

Finally, Deaton entered.

“How’s Roger?” Derek asked.

Deaton chuckled as he set aside his stethoscope. “He’ll be fine. He just ate something that didn’t agree with him.”

“People food?”

“Another hamster.” Deaton pulled out a chair and sat. “What’s troubling you, Alpha Hale?”

Derek hesitated. “I want to trust you,” he confessed. “But I don’t know if I can.”

Deaton thought for a moment. “It’s true that, technically, you can’t. My order requires me to maintain a neutral stance. However, you might want to take into account the fact that my wellbeing is intimately connected with that of your pack.”

“How so?”

Deaton gave a thin smile. “I hear you met my sister.”

Derek frowned. “Sister? Where…” He remembered the moderator from the parliament. “Alisha Morrell is your sister?”

“The very same.”

“But how…oh,” Derek said. “Morrell is her married name.”

Deaton nodded and rose. “A brief marriage, but it had the desired effect.” He pulled out the carafe from the coffee maker and filled it at the sink, then poured the water into the machine. “Alisha has coveted this territory for years. The parliament was her play to get it.”

“So much for being neutral.”

“Again, technically, we are,” Deaton replied, opening a box of tea bags. “But there’s also such a thing as sibling rivalry.” 

He smiled thinly again and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “At any rate, if the Winter pack had won the challenge, I would have been expelled from the territory along with the rest of you.”

He gestured toward Derek with one of the cups. “Tea?”

“Please,” Derek replied. Like Roger, he could feel some of his tension easing in Deaton’s soothing presence.

“Now, I don’t know about you,” Deaton continued as he tore open the tea packets. “But I rather like it here in Beacon Hills. I have no wish to leave. So despite my supposed neutrality, it’s in my best interest to help you.”

“I guess.” Derek frowned. “Why would your sister want to unseat you?”

“Power,” Deaton said simply. As the last of the hot water gurgled into the carafe, he filled the two cups and plunked the tea bags in, then passed one to Derek. 

“Now,” he said, seating himself again. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Derek hesitated again, fiddling with his tea bag. He still felt reluctant to talk pack business with an outsider

“Does this have something to do with Stiles?”

Derek looked up sharply. “Who told you about me and Stiles?” he snarled.

Deaton smiled gently. “You just did. Aside from that, no one,” he added, as Derek slammed his mug down on the counter in annoyance. “I just had a feeling.”

Derek scowled. “A magical feeling? Like a foreseeing?”

Deaton tilted his head. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s just intuition. At any rate, I sensed that the two of you might be important to one another.” He held up a hand, forestalling Derek’s angry response. “Nothing specific. Just a sense of…connection.”

“Okay.” Derek paced the floor a few more times, running his hands through his hair. Deaton waited, patiently sipping his tea, while rain pounded on the roof overhead and thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Okay,” Derek said finally.

He pulled out the chair opposite Deaton and sat. “I think Stiles might be my mate.”

Deaton didn’t blink. “You think or you know?”

“I…” 

Derek closed his eyes. His heartbeat felt strong and steady, as steady as the rain falling overhead. 

“I know,” he said finally.

He opened his eyes and found Deaton smiling at him again, this time warmly.

“Congratulations, Alpha. Much joy to you and yours.”

Derek rose impatiently, shaking his head, and paced again. “But it’s impossible.”

“Why? I told you humans could mate with wolves.”

“No,” Derek turned, pointing at the vet. “You told me werewolves used to have humans in their pack. That’s not the same thing.” 

Deaton sipped his tea, his smile turning smug. “The mating was implied,” he murmured.

Derek growled, then dropped into the chair opposite Deaton’s and put his head in his hands. “This is such a fucking mess.”

“How so?”

Derek looked up. “Are you kidding me? Aside from Stiles being human and a witch and freaking _seventeen_ and my Omega, there’s the fact that I’m legally bonded to another.”

“Not entirely legally,” Deaton pointed out. “You haven’t officially proposed yet, have you?”

“No.” Derek rubbed his eyes, then glared at Deaton. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I read the gossip sites, just like anyone else.” Ignoring Derek’s groan, Deaton leaned back in his chair, setting his tea cup aside. “Aside from Stiles’ age, none of those factors seem like a problem.”

“You obviously haven’t met my family.”

“I’ve met your father,” Deaton pointed out. “A formidable Alpha, to be sure. But also a caring parent. At least, that was my impression. Have you ever wondered,” he asked before Derek could comment, “why werewolf society is the way it is?”

Derek frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Alpha. Beta. Omega.” Deaton ticked off the three categories on his fingers. “Have you ever wondered why?”

Derek stared at him, then shook his head. “No. It’s just always—“

“Always been that way?” Deaton shook his head. “But it hasn’t. The relationship between the three groups used to be quite different.”

“Different how?”

“You know the answer to that,” Deaton said.

Derek blinked at him in puzzlement.

“How did the three groups begin? You know the answer,” Deaton prompted again. “You’ve heard it a hundred times.”

“The First Pack.” Derek frowned. “It’s just a myth,” he said. “A tale for children.”

Deaton shrugged. “All myths hold a grain of truth.” He smiled. “Tell me a story, Derek.”

Derek cast his mind back to Margery, and the words came easily to memory. “In the beginning,” he said, “Creator made First Wolf and put her in the deep forest. First Wolf soon grew hungry, so Creator sent First Beta to help her hunt. They ran in the forest together and had good hunting and soon there were many pups.”

“And then?” Deaton asked.

Derek frowned. “Someone needed to watch over the young while the pack hunted,” he said slowly. “So Moon Mother sent First Omega to care for them.”

“And ever since then?” Deaton asked. 

“Ever since then, we wolves have gathered beneath the full moon to sing her our thanks.”

Deaton spread his hands wide. “And there you have it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Here.” Deaton picked up a clipboard from his desk and handed it to Derek. “Draw me a triskelion.” 

Feeling self-conscious, Derek took the pen from the clipboard and carefully drew the three interlocking spirals on the pad of paper. Deaton calmly waiting, sipping his tea again, then peered at the sketch.

“What do they stand for?” Deaton asked.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega,” Derek said, pointing to each one.

Deaton nodded. “And are all three spirals the same size?”

“Obviously.” Derek was getting annoyed with Deatons’ cryptic questions. “So what?”

“So,” Deaton said patiently. “Just as the three spirals are of equal size, so the first three first wolves were equal in rank.”

“Not really,” Derek said. “Alpha was first.”

Deaton nodded. “True, but the Pack wasn’t complete until Beta and Omega joined. Right?”

“I guess,” Derek said. “But I still don’t get what you mean.”

Deaton leaned forward in his chair. “Wolf culture is driven by one overwhelming, primal instinct,” he said. “Survival. How do you ensure the survival of a species?” 

Once again, he ticked off three points on his fingers. “One, you need Alphas, strong leaders to make wise decisions and hold everyone together in times of trouble. Two, you need warriors. Workers. Loyal members who protect and provide for the pack. In other words, Betas. Three, you need someone to care for the well-being of the pack, especially those who are vulnerable, such as the young.” Deaton gently touched his third finger. “Omegas. None of the three groups can survive without the other’s contribution.” 

“So in the old days…”

“In the old days, all three groups were equally valued,” Deaton said. “The only ones who weren’t were the Rogues, the outcasts. Those who were thrown out of the pack for violating custom and thereby endangering the survival of the species. Drink your tea before it gets cold, Alpha,” he added.

“Something wrong?” he added when Derek stared at him.

“I…you just reminded me of someone.”

Deaton raised his eyebrows. “An Omega?”

“Yes, my…” Derek blushed. “The Omega who raised me. Margery.”

“And what would pack life have been like without her?” Deaton asked.

“God.” Derek laughed. “Unbearable. We would have been at each other’s throats. Somehow she always knew just what to say or do to keep the peace.” He frowned.

“Yes?” Deaton prompted.

“Stiles is the same way,” Derek said slowly. “He just…always knows what the pack needs. Lydia calls him Chief Morale Officer.”

“That’s the thing about Omegas.” Deaton drained the last of his tea. “They don’t just care for a pack physically. They’re emotionally astute, not to mention highly sensitive and empathic. They make sure the emotional bonds between pack members remain strong. Stiles isn’t just an Omega because your contract says so. He’s an Omega because it’s who he is, right down to the bone.”

Derek leaned back in the chair as he absorbed the information. “If this is true,” he said finally, “what happened to change things?”

Deaton shrugged, rose, and rinsed out his cup at the sink. 

“It’s partly human influence on wolf society,” he admitted. “Modern humans don’t tend to value caregiving. There’s a reason the lower salaries in our society go to nurses, schoolteachers, those who work with the very young or the very old. They do the most important jobs of any of us, yet they’re considered menial. And the more closely werewolves assimilated with human culture, the more they’ve taken on human values.”

Deaton shrugged again. “There are other reasons, of course. There’s an old saying humans have: Power corrupts. Over the centuries, being an Alpha became less about service and sacrifice and more about power and privilege. The more power Alphas gained, the more they enjoyed it. And let’s face it-- those who are given power tend to cling to it. They start to think they deserve it. They come to think things are…the way they’re meant to be, the way they’ve always been.”

“Things like the Alpha’s Privilege?” Derek asked bitterly.

“Indeed.” Deaton inclined his head. “Even that didn’t start out as some kind of _droit du seigneur_. As I said earlier, the primary instinct of all pack animals is survival of the group. A wolf who was particularly strong—a powerful Alpha, for instance—was considered prime breeding stock. The more offspring that Alpha could produce, the greater the chance those characteristics would be passed down to the next generation, and the greater the likelihood the pack would survive. Wolves are practical folk,” he added. “They do what needs to be done. It’s one of the things I admire about your people.”

“The Bride’s Lament,” Derek murmured.

“What’s that?”

“It’s an old song,” Derek said. “Margery used to sing it to us. It’s about an Alpha who must leave his beloved mate to go…uh…”

“Service his pack?” Deaton asked delicately.

“Yeah.” Derek blushed. “His loves his mate, but she can’t bear children, so their marriage is dissolved for the good of the Clan. They spend one final night together and then she watches him leave. In the end she dies alone in the forest.” Derek’s throat ached suddenly, and he took a sip of now-cool tea to ease the sting.

“I see,” Deaton said quietly.

For a moment, there was silence, except for the incessant drone of the rain. It was fully dark outside, dusk coming earlier now that it was winter, and the animals in the next room had quieted down for the night.

Finally, Derek leaned forward, still struggling to grasp the full meaning of what Deaton was saying. “So there’s no reason why an Alpha and Omega couldn’t be mates. True mates, not just a sexual side order.” He felt his mouth twist in distaste.

“No reason at all,” Deaton said.

Derek stared at him. “And a human and a wolf?”

“The same.”

Derek felt a lightness in his chest. “So Stiles and I…what we feel is real. A true bond.”

“Possibly.” Deaton’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “What does the connection feel like?”

“I can feel Stiles’ heartbeat, can sense when he’s in danger. It’s like with the rest of the pack, only stronger. He can feel it, too.”

Derek stood and paced the room again, this time with excitement. “And you said that humans used to be allowed in wolf packs, back in the day.”

“Not just allowed,” Deaton said. “Humans were trusted advisors. Like I said, wolves are driven by instinct, instinct so strong that it sometimes overrides reason. In those times, it can help to have the counsel of a human who can think clearly. How does your pack feel about you and Stiles?”

Derek laughed. “Well, Scott’s not happy, but the rest of them act like it’s a done deal.”

“‘Happy Alpha, Happy Pack’,” Deaton quoted. “Isn’t that the saying?”

“Wait.” Derek stopped pacing as a troubling thought occurred. “Stiles isn’t just human. He’s also a witch.”

Deaton waved his hand. “Again, there’s no biological reason wolves and witches can’t mate, just custom and codes of conduct. But custom is there for a reason.”

“What reason?” Derek snapped.

Deaton gave his narrow smile. “Can you imagine a being with the strength and cunning of a werewolf, combined with the magical powers of a born witch?”

“I can,” Derek admitted. “But I don’t like it.”

“Exactly.” Deaton stood and held up three fingers again. “Witches, humans, and wolves. It’s like Alpha, Beta, Omega all over again. When the three groups are equal, in balance, everyone prospers.”

He paced to the window and looked out at the pouring rain. The reflection of the raindrops on the glass ran down his face like tears.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “all three species crave power, are tempted by it. Any time one of the three has gained power over the other two—any time the balance has been lost—the results have been devastating. That’s the reason my order exists: To keep the balance between them. That’s why the Truce was brokered. But the Truce had unexpected consequences. In a way, your uncle Peter was right.”

Derek scowled. “How so?”

Deaton turned back from the window. “It’s good for wolves to breed with humans. Witches, too. Otherwise the bloodlines grow thin, the Clans too insular. It’s why witches are dying out. Well, that and arranged marriages aren’t too popular anymore, with either group.” Deaton smiled, then frowned at the expression on Derek’s face. “What’s worrying you?”

Derek sat again and rubbed his face with his hands. “Peter.”

Deaton sat across from him. “What about him?”

Derek paused. “It’s private.”

Deaton held up his hand. “I swear on my honor as a healer, not one word of this conversation will leave this room.”

Derek felt a hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Peter didn’t just want Stiles in his pack because he’s powerful.”

“Ah.” Deaton sighed heavily. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but I’d be lying. How far did it get?”

“Not as far as it could have,” Derek said, thinking of Isaac. “But far enough.”

“I see.”

“I would never…” The hollow feeling grew worse. “If you think I’d ever—“

Deaton held up his hand. “I know you wouldn’t. But that, and Stiles’ age, should give you pause.”

“I know.” Derek rubbed his face again.

“At what age are werewolves legally allowed to marry?”

Derek blinked in surprise at the question. “It’s not really about age. As long as both parties have reached, uh, sexual maturity,” he scratched his ear self-consciously, “and have permission from their Alphas, they can get married.”

“Interesting. Coincidentally, it’s the same with witches,” Deaton said. “Although in this modern era, they’ve been tending to postpone marriage until later in life, like humans and wolves.”

Derek nodded. “My grandmother was fifteen when she married. My mother was twenty.”

“And Anna, Stiles’ mother, was supposed to wed her betrothed at sixteen, but she managed to talk her family into postponing it until she turned eighteen. And then she eloped with John Stilinski.” Deaton leaned closer, his face serious. “Age may not matter to supernatural beings, but it does to humans. And human laws exist for a reason, to protect vulnerable children from predators like Peter.”

The hollow feeling inside Derek became an ache. “You’re saying I shouldn’t be with Stiles,” he said.

Deaton sat back, rolling his eyes. “No, I’m saying you should wait a year, until he’s of age.” 

“Oh.” Derek blinked. “And then…”

“And then mazel tov.” Deaton gave a gracious wave of his hand. “A year also gives you time to deal with your other…entanglements.” He chuckled genially. “I know it seems like a long time when you’re a teenager, but trust me, a year is nothing.”

“No, I know that,” Derek said eagerly. “And I’m not a teenager…I mean, I’m not _that_ much older than Stiles...I mean, I am, but…” He broke off, completely flustered.

Fortunately, Deaton remained unperturbed.

“So you’ll wait a year,” he said firmly. “And in the meantime, you can get your family situation…rearranged.”

“Rearranged,” Derek murmured as he sat in his car five minutes later, phone in hand. It was now pitch black outside, the rain pounding like kettle drums on the roof of the Camaro. The interior of the car was a small, warm sanctuary from the storm outside.

“I just have to rearrange the entanglements,” Derek said aloud, trying out the idea.

The unfortunate image his mind presented him was a twisted knot of narrow cables, like the string of Christmas lights that somehow, every year, became completely tangled despite Margery’s careful packing.

“You just have to start at one end and be patient,” she had told Derek when he grew frustrated. He would sit and watch, sipping hot cider and nibbling gingerwolves, while she deftly untangled the glowing lights that lay a thousand tiny stars in her lap. The room was warm and cozy, with music playing softly in the background. Even Laura was relaxed, picking through the family ornaments carefully wrapped in tissue paper. The clumsy ones Laura and Derek had made as children, cobbled together with popsicle sticks and yarn and _papier mâché_ , hung in places of honor near the top of the tree, nestled next to thousand-dollar Tiffany ornaments. 

When the tree was fully decorated, their parents would join them. Grayson would steady Kara as she carefully climbed the ladder and placed the angel ornament on top. The angel wore a golden dress, fluffy white wings, and a glittering halo and presided from her perch over all the holiday activities in the Hale mansion. With her red hair and serene smile, she always reminded Derek of his mother. 

A thunderclap overhead made Derek jump and startled him out of his memories. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found Kate’s number.

“Just start at one end and be patient,” he told himself. “Start at one end and be patient.”

His thumb lingered over Kate’s name. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Here goes nothing.”

The phone rang suddenly, startling him. Derek answered automatically, before he could see who was calling.

It was Scott, and his voice sounded frantic with fear. “Derek, please, you gotta help me.”

Derek felt himself instantly slip into Alpha mode. His breathing grew steady, his voice calm and controlled. “Scott,” he said firmly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Stiles,” Scott said miserably. “He’s gone.”


	36. Chapter 36

“Scott, hang on.”

Derek extended his senses, as much as he could through the storm.

“Stiles’ heartbeat seems steady,” he told Scott after a moment. “At least, I don’t sense that he’s in any danger.”

“He’s a danger to himself right now,” Scott said bitterly.

Derek’s alarm sharpened. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s my fault.” Scott’s voice was forlorn. “I usually keep track, but with everything that’s been going on, I forgot.”

“Scott.” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. “Start at the beginning. Where are you now?”

“I’m in detention. The teacher stepped out, but I’ve only got a minute.”

“Detention? What did you do?”

Scott sighed. “Our dick chemistry teacher said something to Stiles. I didn’t catch what it was, but I swear he did in on purpose. Stiles was so upset I thought he was gonna start blowing the lights, so I knocked over a lab table as a distraction and got detention. Lydia just texted and said Stiles shoved all his stuff in his locker, including his phone, and walked out of school, but Boyd says his jeep is still in the parking lot so he must have gone on foot and that’s when I remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

“It’s the anniversary of the fire,” Scott said miserably. 

Derek sat up straighter. “The fire where Stiles’ parents were killed?”

“Yeah. He usually spends it drunk out of his mind, and it’s my job to look after him. But I forgot and my mom’s at work and—“

“Scott,” Derek interrupted impatiently. “Where would he go?”

“The cemetery or maybe—”

“I’m on it.” Derek hung up, put the car in drive, and drove off with a squeal of tires against the wet pavement.

The Beacon Hills cemetery was easy to find, if somewhat difficult to navigate in the rainy darkness. Derek pulled a flashlight from the back seat—he didn’t need it to see, but he didn’t want to startle Stiles and figured the light would announce his presence. The rain made scenting difficult, but he did catch a hint of Stiles when he stepped out of the car. He followed it down the neat rows of gravestones until he reached one where the scent was strongest, the wet grass in front of it trampled as if someone had been sitting there.

He trained the light on the surface and read the inscription. There were two names carved in the same stone, above their respective birth and death dates: _Anna Magdalena Stilinski, Beloved Wife and Mother_ and _John Martin Stilinski, Beloved Husband and Father_. 

Derek could feel Stiles’ grief, as palpable as his own breath, but couldn’t sense him in the area. He raised his head, extending all his senses, but felt nothing beyond a faint echo of Stiles’ heartbeat—proof of life, but little else.

“Stiles!” Derek shouted, knowing it was useless. Still, he called several more times before returning to the car, where he quickly dialed Scott’s number. It went directly to voicemail. Derek assumed the teacher had come back into the room, perhaps even confiscated Scott’s phone.

Derek contemplated calling the other pack members, or sending out a general text, but reminded himself that most were still at their post-school activities or with their parents. 

_Think_ , he told himself. _Where else would he go?_

He thought back to his initial conversation with Deaton, all those weeks ago.

_“As you know,” Deaton said, “every magical being in a hundred-mile radius is aware of that kind of power spike. My office is warded all to hell, against wolves and witches and what-have-yous, but the first time Stiles walked through the door he blew every damn light bulb in the place.”_

_Derek flinched in spite of himself. “So it was only a matter of time before…”_

_“Word spread.” Deaton shrugged. “We still don’t know who came for them. It could have been his mother’s family, or the jilted clan. An honor thing. Or it could have been another witch wanting to take his power.”_

_Derek didn’t have to ask. “The parents died,” he said. “Protecting him.”_

_“Yes.” Deaton nodded. “But.” He held up a finger again. “The others died, too.”_

_Derek felt shock run down his spine, and he shivered. “The ones who came for him?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Stiles killed them?”_

_“Yes. I don’t think he even knew what he was doing,” Deaton added. “It was just instinct. He unleashed so much power it burned the entire house down._

“The house,” Derek said out loud. Once again, he put the Camaro in drive and peeled out. He knew the Stilinski home had been located at the very edge of town, near the Preserve. That, the sense of Stiles’ presence, and his faint scent on the breeze was enough to guide him to the location.

By the time he pulled up at the house, Derek’s anxiety burned fiercely and he had worked himself into a righteous rage. The first thing he was going to do was make sure Stiles was safe. Then he was going to unleash Hell on the errant Omega. Another spanking might be in order, along with a two-week grounding with no phone, no TV, no video games, no lacrosse, no pack piles, no Scott-and-Stiles time, no—

Derek was brought up short by the sight of the house. It had once been a tidy little home, scarcely bigger than a cottage, with a white picket fence and a garden. Standing on the edge of the dark forest, it must have looked like something out of a fairy tale. Derek recognized the tiny back porch as the one from the photo of Stiles and his parents. 

Now the house was gutted, little more than a burnt-out shell, and the garden was overgrown with weeds. The pattern of destruction around the front door and windows showed where they had been blown off their hinges by the force of Stiles’ power. 

Even years after the fire, the house still stank of it. The smell of the wet, charred wood burned Derek’s nostrils and caught in his throat. There was something else in the scent, too, something that made Derek’s hackles rise and sparked the metallic taste of copper in his mouth.

Magic.

Derek growled uneasily as his wolf reacted to the smell. Still, he moved forward, placing his feet carefully on the rotting wood of the front porch, his footsteps echoing hollowly beneath. He eased through the open doorway and gasped. 

The destruction was even more apparent here. Shattered doorways and furniture showed the impact of the explosion, as if a giant fist had punched outward from inside the house. The small, narrow staircase to the upper floor sagged off the wall, banisters broken. Water poured through gaps in the blackened ceiling, and the stench of mold and mildew bubbled up from the floor. 

“Jesus,” Derek murmured. It was a miracle the house was still standing at all. Clearly the structure could collapse at any moment.

As if in response, roof beams shifted and moaned overhead.

“Shit,” Derek muttered. He ducked his head and moved forward, wincing as the boards complained under his feet.

“Stiles?” he called softly. 

There was no answer, but Derek could sense his mate crouching somewhere in the darkness ahead. His heartbeat, usually so frenetic, was slow and lethargic.

Derek took another step forward, and the house creaked alarmingly again.

“Stiles, come on, this place isn’t safe.”

Still no answer.

Derek switched on the flashlight. “I’m coming in,” he called. Then he walked cautiously toward the back of the house, down the dark tilting hallway to the left of the broken staircase. He had to duck to go under some collapsed beams, and icy cold water dripped on his head and ran down the back of his neck. Broken glass crunched underfoot, and wind whistled through the shattered windows.

Derek emerged into what must have been the kitchen at the back of the house. The remains of a white cotton curtain flapped forlornly in the window over the wide farmhouse sink, and to the right Derek could see the door to the small back porch where the Stilinksi family had their picture taken during happier times.

A new smell assaulted Derek’s senses—the sharp bite of alcohol— and his flashlight beam caught a glimpse of something red.

Stiles huddled in the corner away from the door, almost hidden under the sink. He wore his red hoodie over his clothes but was still soaking wet. He had his knees drawn up and one arm wrapped around them, his head down. At his feet was a half-empty bottle of Jack, the slender fingers of his other hand wrapped around the neck. 

He reeked of whiskey.

Derek felt his rage make a comeback and he strode forward.

“Stiles,” he said sharply. He reached down, grabbed Stiles’ shoulder, and shook it. “Stiles! Wake up!”

Stiles’ head lolled, and his heartbeat quickened in alarm. 

“Wake up!” Derek said again. 

Stiles raised his head and peered around him in confusion.

“Get up,” Derek told him, then watched impatiently as Stiles unfolded his limbs, his movements sluggish and even more uncoordinated than usual. 

“Fuck this, I’m taking you home.” Derek grasped Stiles’ arm and hauled him to his feet, too angry to be gentle. 

“Leave it!” he snapped, when Stiles reached for the bottle. It clinked as it fell over against the floor. The strong odor of amber liquid flowing out made Derek’s eyes water.

He turned and towed Stiles behind him, ignoring his stumbling footsteps, then hauled him out the front door, across the porch, down the steps, and across the wet grass to the car. Stiles fetched up against it with a thump, his eyes widening in shock as he finally looked at Derek.

Then his eyes widened further.

“Oh, crap.” As Stiles lurched forward, Derek grabbed his head and strategically turned it away from the Camaro, then wrinkled his nose in disgust as Stiles fell to his hands and knees, puking his guts out.

“Serves you right,” he said shortly, then opened the car door, slid into the driver’s seat, and turned on the car, making sure to crank the heat. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed Melissa McCall.

“Derek,” she said frantically as she picked up. “Did Scott—“

“I found him,” Derek said. “He’s fine. Well, he will be,” he added, watching Stiles’ body convulse in the pouring rain, strings of vomit dangling from his mouth.

“Oh, thank God. This is all my fault.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Thinking the McCall family had an exaggerated sense of responsibility; Derek turned and rummaged behind the driver’s seat, where he kept a cleaning kit. 

“I’ve been working double shifts this week—the stomach flu has just decimated the nursing staff—so I lost track of the date. I knew something was bothering him, but the one time I asked, he just…well, he clearly didn’t want to talk about it.”

Derek winced, remembering his disastrous encounter with Stiles the previous weekend. As it turned out, his timing could not have been worse.

“It’s not your fault,” Derek said firmly. He found a soft, worn T-shirt in the kit, one he used to polish the Camaro to a high gloss. Now he opened the door and flung it to Stiles.

“You get puke on my interior and I’ll shred you,” he warned.

“Oh, dear.” Melissa’s voice was forlorn. “Is he sick?”

“Yeah, but it’s his own damn fault,” Derek replied, wincing as Stiles wiped the mess from his mouth on the shirt. “The idiot drank half a bottle of Jack. I’m bringing him home.” He found an old beach towel in the kit and draped it over the passenger seat.

“No, that’s the thing,” Melissa said worriedly. “I just got called in to work again, and Scott’s due at the vet clinic. Could Stiles stay with you tonight? I don’t think he should be alone.”

“I—” Derek closed his eyes. “Of course he can. I’ll look after him. And Melissa?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe...when you get some time off from work, we could talk? I just…I could use your advice on something.”

“Something to do with the boys?”

“Yes. Well, kind of. Nothing bad,” Derek said hurriedly. “I could just really use your counsel.”

“Of course.” Melissa’s voice was warm. “I’d be happy to. Tell Stiles I love him, and give him some ginger ale for his stomach.”

“Will do.”

As Derek hung up, the door opened and Stiles slumped in the passenger seat, sopping wet. His hair was plastered to his forehead from rain, and he stank of misery and vomit.

“Melissa has to work, so you’re staying with me tonight,” Derek told him.

Stiles didn’t look at Derek, just jerked one shoulder in reply. He rested his forehead against the window as they drove, staring sullenly out into the rain.

Derek’s temper had softened enough that he drove carefully along the curving road up to Hale House. Still, he had to pull over two more times so Stiles could empty his stomach contents onto the gravel.

By the time they reached the house, Stiles was visibly drooping. He trudged to the door in Derek’s wake, then obediently trudged up the stairs when Derek pointed.

“Go brush your teeth and get out of those wet clothes,” he ordered. “I’ll bring you some dry ones.”

Derek took a minute to run out to the garage and dry off the interior of the Camaro with another towel, then followed Stiles up to the third floor. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom, so he pulled down the hidden staircase to Stiles’ attic room, where he fished some relatively clean clothes out of the laundry basket, including warm socks, his Batman boxers, a pair of red sweatpants, and a long-sleeved T-shirt that read “Soft Rock Café.”

He knocked on the door of the bathroom and waited a second, then entered. Stiles was still in the shower. His vague silhouette through the plastic curtain showed him standing with his head down under the spray, one hand braced against the wall as steam rose around him.

Derek set the dry clothes on top of the hamper and picked the wet ones off the floor. These he took down to the laundry room on the first floor, careful to go through the pockets before tossing them in the dryer—a habit he had quickly acquired after living with teenagers. He considered himself a hardened veteran now, having pulled any number of forgotten car keys, cell phones, USB drives, condoms, spliffs, nickel bags, and spare change. The cash he confiscated; the other items he saved for a lecture during weekly pack meetings—or as the teens called it, “Weekly Pack Shaming.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased that you’re taking precautions when it comes to sex,” he said sternly. “But this is a drug-free household, marijuana included. And cell phones are expensive— don’t just send them through the washer and expect me to buy you a new one!”

The teens groaned and rolled their eyes in unison.

Smiling a little at the memory, Derek pulled a folded piece of paper out of the back pocket of Stiles’ jeans. It was sopping wet, but appeared to be a medical appointment reminder. 

Curious, Derek peered at the document, hoping to find Stiles’ full name. But the name on the label merely read “S.A. Stilinksi.”

Derek frowned. The date listed for the appointment was earlier in the week. He recalled that Melissa said Stiles would have having follow-up visits after collapsing after the lacrosse game, and that the doctor was conducting further testing. He searched Stiles’ other pockets, but didn’t find any documents listing test results.   
Derek set the paper on the top of the washing machine to dry, making a mental note to ask Melissa about the matter when they talked.

The thought brought him up short. Melissa had been amazingly supportive of the pack, given the circumstances under which it began, and amazingly cooperative with Derek in his leadership. 

But there was no way she would be okay with Derek being attracted to Stiles, let alone being mates.

Derek sighed. Sometimes it was so taxing, dealing with humans. Derek was used to the wolf world, where certain things were understood, even taken for granted. Despite the many complications and hierarchies of wolf society, the mating bond was sacrosanct, not to be questioned. It was considered natural and pure, while myths and stories abounded about wolves being driven mad when deprived of their true mate.

Derek sternly reminded himself of Deaton’s warning, that age was a major factor for humans, especially when that barrier had already been violated.

Derek shook his head, disgusted with himself. Who knew if Stiles would even take Derek back, after the way he had rejected him the previous weekend? Even if it had been for the boy’s own good, it had obviously hurt him deeply.

No, Derek would just have to go against his Alpha instincts and approach the matter humbly. If Stiles still wanted him—Derek didn’t permit himself to think of the shattering heartbreak he would experience if he didn’t—then Derek would swear a solemn vow not to consummate their bond until Stiles was 18, and only then with his permission.

Surely Melissa would grant her blessing to such an arrangement?

Derek shook his head again. Melissa McCall’s motherly instincts went beyond those of a she-wolf, approaching she-bear territory. She would probably just as soon rip Derek to shreds as permit him anywhere near one of her precious boys.

But Derek would have to face her, because he would never do anything behind her back. When they next met, Derek would lay open his heart to Melissa and ask her to judge.

Satisfied, Derek threw Stiles’ clothes into the dryer, except for his jeans, which bore mud and grass stains on the knees and seat. These he spritzed with stain remover, then threw them in the washer, and started both machines. 

He headed to the kitchen, where he rummaged in the refrigerator and pantry for ginger-ale, but didn’t find any. He dutifully added the item to the grocery list on the refrigerator door, then remembered the girls kept various herbal teas in the cupboard for their monthly troubles. (Derek winced at the thought, remembering the time Erica had pitched a cast-iron frying pan at his head when he called it that.)

He peered helplessly at the various boxes with their bewildering lists of ingredients—what the hell was Rooibus?—before giving up. He would have to email Margery and ask for her hangover remedy.

In the meantime, he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and headed back upstairs to the third floor. However, the bathroom was empty, the clean clothes were gone, and for once, Stiles had hung up his wet towel rather than leaving it on the floor.

In the hallway, the trap door in the ceiling was closed.

Derek hesitated, then knocked.

“Stiles?” he called.

He waited for Stiles to knock three times—that was the signal that he would allow a guest to visit his hideaway—but there was only silence, and the sound of the rain on the roof.

Derek hesitated, then tugged the handle, and the stairs unfolded.

“Stiles?” he called again. “I’m just bringing you some water.”

He cautiously walked up the stairs, pausing when his head was high enough to see into the tiny room. 

Stiles was sound asleep on his pallet, his mouth hanging open, snoring slightly. He looked exhausted and his eyes were shadowed, but his heartbeat was steady, and Derek reminded himself that the boy was safe and sound under his roof. He resisted the (almost overwhelming) urge to tuck the blanket higher around his shoulders and stroke the hair off his forehead. Instead, he set the bottle of water by the side of the mattress and retreated.

Derek forced himself to go to his office on the first floor, where he texted Scott to let him know Stiles was okay and sent an email to Margery. His laptop still lay in pieces on the floor, so he texted tech support at Hale Corporation to request a new one ASAP. 

He remembered his vow earlier in the evening to call Kate. Before he could lose his nerve, he hit speed dial. He got her voice mail, which wasn’t surprising, given it was a Friday night. No doubt Miss Kate Monroe was on the town.

He left a voice message asking Kate to call him back, and if his voice shook a little, he didn’t admit it to himself. On a whim, he called Laura, but got her voice mail as well. That was a surprise—Laura could reliably be found at the office on Friday nights and she never turned off her phone.

Feeling uneasy, Derek sat at his desk. He couldn’t work, obviously, with his laptop in pieces, but he could at least clear the papers off his desk.

He spent five minutes dutifully filing, recycling, and shredding, then gave up. It had been a long, hard week, and the emotional stress of worrying about Stiles that evening had left him exhausted. Too tired to even go upstairs to bed, Derek crawled onto the sofa in his office, pulled the wool throw over his shoulders, and instantly fell asleep.

***

Thunder woke him. Startled, Derek sat bolt upright, ears still ringing from the sound. A second peal followed, louder than the first. Derek’s heart pounded in his chest, and he had to take a few calming breaths to slow it.

Lightning flashed, and thunder pealed a third time. Derek heard a faint thump on the third floor, followed by scurrying feet. He could feel Stiles’ heart racing.

Cursing, Derek tried to fight free of the blanket, which had somehow gotten tangled around his legs. As he finally emerged, Stiles appeared in the doorway to the office, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw Derek. He jerked his chin in greeting, then gave a casual stretch and an oversize yawn, clearly trying to disguise his initial panic.

“Did the storm wake you?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged, still trying to look cool, then twirled his finger next to his head.

“Bad dreams, too?”

Stiles nodded. He shuffled a few steps forward, then stopped, looking down at his feet. With a sigh, he tilted his head to the side and tugged the collar of his T-shirt down, baring Derek’s mark on his neck.

Derek spread his arms wide. “Aw, c’mere, pup.” 

Stiles gratefully crawled into Derek’s lap, burying his face in his neck. Derek enfolded him in his arms and kissed his hair.

“I’m not angry anymore,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over the mark on Stiles’ collarbone. “You scared me, is all. I know today was a hard day, but you shouldn’t drink like that,” he added. “It’s bad for you.”

Stiles nodded and burrowed even closer to Derek, who pulled the blanket over both of them.

“I’m sorry about your parents.”

Stiles nodded again, and Derek could feel hot wet tears against his skin.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. “I got you.”

Stiles wrapped an arm around Derek’s neck and cried silently, his shoulders shaking. Derek rocked him gently until his sobs eased. Then he pulled away and held Stiles’ face in his hands, stroking away the tears with his thumbs.

“It’s not your fault. You know that right?”

Stiles shook his head, then curled his hand into a fist and thumped it against his chest.

Derek tightened his grip. “No, it’s not,” he insisted.

Stiles thumped his chest again.

“Okay, whoever killed your parents came for you, but that’s not the same thing,” Derek said sternly. “Your parents died trying to protect you because that’s what parents are supposed to do. I know mine would give their lives for me in a heartbeat. It’s not easy and I know you miss them,” he added, stroking Stiles’ hair. “But your mom and dad wouldn’t have had it any other way, because they loved you.”

Stiles looked at him mournfully.

“Trust me on this,” Derek said.

Stiles looked down but gave a tiny nod.

“We’ll talk about it some more tomorrow, okay? Right now I think you should go back to sleep.”

Stiles hesitated. Then he took Derek’s hand, pressed it to his heart, and placed his own on Derek’s chest. He looked at Derek, eyes swimming with emotion.

“Yeah,” Derek said breathlessly. “Yeah, we’ll talk about us, too.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows, and his smile widened.

“Yes, there is an ‘us,’” Derek said. “If you’ll have me.”

Derek held his breath until Stiles nodded. Then he felt his shoulders sag with relief. 

“Yeah?” he asked softly. His smile was so wide it felt like his face might split open.

Stiles nodded firmly, then took Derek’s hand, kissed his palm, and placed it on the side of his face

“Okay,” Derek said, choking back his own tears. “Okay. Tomorrow we’ll talk and figure everything out, right?”

Stiles nodded, then curled up against Derek, placing his head against Derek’s shoulder with a sigh. Derek could feel Stiles’ body relaxing limb by limb until he was limp in his arms.

Derek waited a few more minutes, until he was sure Stiles was sound asleep, then picked him up and carried him up the stairs. He stopped on the second floor and carefully placed Stiles in his own bed. His plan was to sleep up in Stiles’ room, but Stiles stirred restlessly, reaching out for Derek even in sleep.

“Shhh,” Derek stroked the hair off Stiles’ forehead. “Okay, but just this once.”

He stripped off his own clothes and slid in next to Stiles, who instantly snuggled against him, throwing an arm across his chest to hold him in place, then slipped back into slumber as contentedly as a cat. Derek fell asleep to the feel of his mate in his arms and the song of the rain on the roof

***

He woke in the morning, achingly hard. His wolf, it seemed, wasn’t content with just a cuddle. Derek eased out of bed as quickly and quietly as he could. Stiles, fortunately, slept on, snoring a little. Derek changed into running clothes and hit the trail.

The rain had finally stopped, and the sun was rising. The forest sparkled, diamonds among the green canopy, as the bright morning rays pierced the raindrops still dripping from the leaves and branches overhead. 

Derek tried to focus on the beauty of the day and the crisp cool air in his lungs, but his wolf wasn’t having any of it. The way to celebrate a refreshing winter morning, it felt, was ploughing into a warm and willing mate, ripe for breeding.

“Dammit,” Derek cursed. After a few minutes, he gave up and found a hiding place amid the sprawling roots of an enormous tree. There he grasped his length, still painfully hard. A few quick jerks and the thought of Stiles in his bed was all it took, and he spilled his seed onto the mossy ground, pressing his face against the rough bark of the tree to muffle his cries. 

Afterward, his wolf grumbled, but seemed content, so Derek tucked himself back into his running shorts and hit the trail again. It was a new day, he told himself, and when he got home, he would make coffee and he and Stiles would talk and they would figure everything out. The pack would be happy, he knew, except maybe Scott, but if Stiles was happy he would come around. Then they would—

Derek fell to his knees, clutching his chest as pain rippled through it.

“What the hell?” he gasped. He felt as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs and struggled to breathe, panic setting in when he couldn’t.

The pain came again, and Derek pitched forward, mouth twisting in agony against the wet ground. He tried to shift, but his body wouldn’t obey. A high buzzing sound started in his ears, and darkness crowded his vision, closing in around him. 

Then the feeling stopped, as suddenly as it had come.

For a moment, Derek panted against the earth, chest heaving. Then he cautiously eased himself to his knees. His lungs seemed to work again, so he thankfully took a few deep breaths until his mind felt clearer. Then he raised his head to sniff the air.

A faint scent came on the wind, harsh and metallic.

Derek’s claws and fangs erupted. His leg muscles coiled beneath him as he shifted into full wolf form. He surged forward, howling for his pack, and raced toward the house.

It wasn’t his own pain and panic he had felt in his chest, he realized.

It was his mate’s.

Derek burst through the clearing and skidded to a stop, shifting to human form at the sight that confronted him.

Parked in front of his home was an all-too-familiar red sports car, shining in the bright morning sun like a drop of blood.

“Oh, God,” Derek whispered. “Kate.”


	37. Chapter 37

Derek heard a rhythmic tumbling, thudding sound, like something heavy falling downstairs.

Sure enough, two seconds later, Stiles’ body crashed through the front door, skidded across the front porch and down the steps, and sprawled on the lawn. 

A fully wolfed-out Kate followed, springing through the broken doorway. She tensed at the edge of the porch for a heartbeat, roaring in fury, then leapt.

Somehow, Stiles managed to roll away. He came up in a half-crouch, clutching his forearm—the same one Alec had injured the week prior. His chest heaved, and blood flowed from the many claw marks on his body. 

Derek sprinted across the lawn. As he did, Kate tensed again, her shoulders rolling. Just in the nick of time, Derek tackled her, forcing her to the ground. Her claws caught him across the chest and face, and he roared in pain as he felt the flesh flay.

“Stop!” he yelled, the Alpha tone reverberating through the trees.

Kate clawed her way free of him and tried to launch herself at Stiles. 

“STOP!” Derek bellowed again, claws out. “Or I swear to God I’ll rip your heart out!”

Kate growled, showing her teeth, but backed away. 

Derek turned to Stiles. “Are you okay?”

Stiles, cradling his arm against his chest, gave a short nod.

“I knew it!” Kate spat.

Derek turned back. Kate had transformed into half-human form, her eyes glowing yellow with rage.

“I knew it!” she hissed again. “I knew you’d met somebody else. You denied it, but I could tell.”

To Derek’s surprise, her eyes filled with tears. “But I didn’t believe it when Alec told me—" She broke off, biting her lip.

Derek’s heart sank. “Alec told you what?”

“He didn’t figure it out at first,” Kate said dully, the yellow fading from her eyes as she returned to human form. “He said you had a pet Omega at the parliament.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “I even recognized it from Alec’s description as the one you brought to LA.”

She shrugged. “I could handle that. I told you I could. But Alec insisted there was something about it, something about the _smell_.” Kate’s pretty face twisted into an ugly expression of revulsion. “It’s human, isn’t it?”

“Kate,” Derek said softly. 

“It’s human!” Kate yelled, pointing at Stiles. Derek risked a look behind him. To his surprise, Stiles was dead calm—his expression cold, his pale face a mask.

Kate shook her head again, tears streaming down her face, smearing her dark eye makeup and mascara. “How could you do this to me, Derek?” she whimpered. “How could you _humiliate_ me by bringing this _filth_ into our bed?”

Behind him, Derek could hear howls and crashing through the underbrush as several pack members burst through the trees. The roar of cars—Jackson’s, from the sound of it, then Boyd’s—announced the arrival of the others.

Together, they formed a half circle around the porch, snarling at Kate. Derek could hear Scott whining in concern as he sensed Stiles’ injuries. 

“Hold,” Derek told them sternly. 

Kate wiped her tear-stained face, then raised her chin.

“Is this your pack?” she sneered. “These children? Tell me, how many of them are you fucking, Derek?”

“Kate.” Derek took step forward, hands outstretched. “I swear, it’s not like that.”

“You’re a liar,” Kate said bluntly.

Derek felt rage starting to overpower his shock. “Be careful what you say to me.”

But Kate just shrugged. “It’s true. Or are you going to try to get off on a technicality? Just like a lawyer,” she sneered before Derek could answer. “You told me you weren’t attracted to any of your Betas.”

She gestured contemptuously toward Stiles. “Okay, technically, you’re not. Turns out your standards are even lower.” She laughed again. “I guess this explains the last time we had sex, when you wanted me to play human in one of your sick fantasies.”

“Enough!” Derek roared. He felt his pack quail even as they uneasily prowled the perimeter of the half-circle. He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw Lydia standing by Jackson’s car, hands clenched in anxiety. A glance in the other direction showed Allison in the treeline, her expression cool as she aimed her bow at Kate. He wanted to look behind him to check on Stiles, but didn’t dare turn his back on Kate.

Derek took a deep breath. “I get that you’re hurt and angry,” he told Kate. “You have every right to be. We can talk about this, but you need to leave my pack alone.” 

Kate’s voice shook, but she stood her ground. “Fine, let’s talk. Are you going to honor your agreement or not?”

Now it was Derek’s turn to laugh. “Are you kidding me? If I’m so _sick_ , why would you want to marry me?”

Kate folded her arms. “The Alpha has his privileges,” she said coolly. “As long as you breed me, I’m prepared to look the other way.”

“Kate,” Derek said through his teeth. “I don’t love you. I don’t want to marry you.”

“I don’t care how you feel,” Kate hissed. “I want my rights. And I expect you to honor your contract with my clan.”

“Forget it,” Derek growled. “I’m cancelling our contract.”

Kate started to cry again. “What happened to us?”

Derek softened. “Nothing happened,” he said, shrugging helplessly. “I mean, it’s nothing you did. I still care about you, I swear, I just…I want something different now. It wouldn’t be fair to you to continue, not when my feelings have changed so much.”

“You promised me six months, Derek!” Kate sobbed. “Six months, then you’d finish this stupid assignment and be out of here and we could finally get married! We could start our life in LA like we always planned.”

Derek felt the ripple of shock run through his pack at Kate’s words. He flushed deeply, avoiding their eyes. 

“God, I’m such an idiot!” Kate’s face hardened again. “When you left without collaring me, all my friends said I should dump you. But I believed you. I believed you just needed more time.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’ve been saving myself for you! You think I couldn’t have had other offers, better offers?”

“Enough,” Derek said quietly. He could feel Stiles’ heartbeat accelerate, feel his confusion and hurt, along with the pack’s distress. He needed to get Kate out of there so he could explain, so he could make things right again.

“Kate,” he said. “It’s over. You need to leave now.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Not until I have your promise.” Her tone became wheedling. “Let’s just forget what I saw and start over. We can make this work, Derek, I swear.”

Derek took a deep breath. “No,” he said.

Kate’s eyes widened. “What about our families’ bond?”

“I’m breaking it.”

Kate half-shifted in rage. “You’ll pay for this!” she snarled. “My Alpha will see to that!”

“Take me to court. I will pay any penalty the Council chooses. I won’t fight it,” Derek said, surprised at how calm he felt inside. 

No, he realized. Not calm—happy. His heart was singing with freedom. He raised his chin higher.

“Leave,” he told Kate again. “And don’t come back.”

Kate’s eyes burned yellow with fury. “You’re an oathbreaker, Derek Hale!” she spat. “You have no honor!”

Derek heard a growl behind him, but one he didn’t recognize. 

“You are a liar from a clan of liars,” Kate continued.

The hair on the back of Derek’s neck started to rise, as if the air were filling with electricity.

“Everyone will know what you’ve done,” Kate said. “My family will kill you and take your pack for their own and then--” 

“Stiles, no!” Scott shouted

Derek flung himself forward, once again tackling Kate. He felt a burning sensation on his back and neck as a bolt of pure power sizzled through the air above him. Even as he bore Kate to the ground, the front windows of the house exploded along with one of the porch posts, sending glass and splinters flying through the air.

Then there was silence.

Derek cautiously raised his head and looked behind him.

Stiles stood with one arm outstretched, palm flat and still glowing with power. His amber eyes burned with rage, and his lips were drawn back in a snarl as fierce as any wolf’s.

Derek heard a frantic inhale in his ear as Kate fought free of his grip and scrambled backward in panic. She fetched up against the porch steps and froze, staring at Stiles in terror.

Stiles took a step forward and spat blood at her feet.

_Bitch_ , he mouthed.

“Oh, _crap_ ,” Derek said.


	38. Chapter 38

“Stiles!” Scott leapt forward, pulling Stiles back. Still enraged, Stiles struggled against him, growling, and it took all Scott’s strength to drag his friend out of reach of Kate’s claws.

Trembling, Kate stared at Stiles.

“What the hell, Derek?” she whispered. “What is it?”

“Not _it_ ,” Derek snapped, stepping forward. “This is Stiles.” He took a deep breath. “And he’s my mate.”

Even as Kate stared at him, aghast, Derek felt the hum of excitement move through his pack, reinforcing his sense of relief and rightness within. He felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax, and he stood taller.

“Are you insane?” Kate asked. “What do you mean he’s your mate?”

Derek risked a glance back at Stiles and felt a smile tug at his lips. “He’s my best beloved.”

Stiles stopped struggling in Scott’s arms, and a blush crept up his cheeks. He gave a slight nod of affirmation, and Derek felt the tension in his body ease further.

Kate’s voice broke the spell. “He’s your fuck toy, you mean.” Her tone slid into sarcasm. “Well, _obviously_ , Derek. I figured that out when I found him in your bed. It’s a pity I didn’t finish him right then and there, but I decided to toy with him a bit first.” 

Kate stood, brushing sawdust and bits of broken glass off her clothing. “I guess Alec was right was right about you, Derek,” she said coolly. “You really have gone native.” 

Derek felt a muscle twitch in his jaw, and a low growl built at the back of his throat. “I’m not joking, Kate.”

Kate raised her chin and folded her arms. “Fine. Keep your plaything, and your country hovel.” 

She gestured contemptuously around her. “You can stake him out in the back yard if you want, along with the rest of your mongrel pack, and fuck him ‘til he bleeds. Just keep him out of our bed.” She tossed her hair back. “I think that’s a reasonable request from a wife to her husband.”

“No.” Derek stepped closer. “I love Stiles and I’m going to marry _him_ , not you. If he’ll have me,” he added.

Kate laughed in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind? You would throw aside our contract for this boy, this—"

Kate broke off, her eyes widening in realization. She looked at the ruined porch behind her, then at Stiles. 

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “He’s one of _them_ , isn’t he? One of the accursed.” Her voice rose. “You’ve not only gone insane, Derek Hale, you’ve turned against your own kind!”

“Enough!” Derek said loudly. “Kate Monroe, I banish you from my territory.” 

Kate gaped at him. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t banish me!”

“I give you one hour,” Derek said, more quietly. “And trust me when I say, that hour better find you a hundred miles from here.”

“Derek.” Kate held out her hands, her voice pleading. “Sweetheart. This isn’t you. You’re under some kind of spell.” She pointed to Stiles. “This creature has bewitched you.”

Derek straightened his spine and folded his arms, again allowing the pack’s presence to strengthen his resolve. “One hour,” he said again. “After that, I revoke my protection and my pack will rip you to shreds.” No,” he added as Kate opened her mouth to argue. “I’ve spoken. We’re done.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Bite me.”

Derek permitted himself a grin. “Not any more, sweetheart. I prefer fresher meat.”

Kate hissed and her eyes flared yellow with rage as the pack snickered. Derek felt a pang of remorse for shaming her.

“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “Have your attorney contact mine to negotiate a settlement. Goodbye, Kate.”

“This isn’t over!” Kate spat. With one final glare, she turned away, only to find her path blocked by Erika.

“Bitch,” Erika crooned, showing her fangs. “Wanna play?”

“Call off your dogs, Hale!” Kate snapped.

“Erika. Stand down. You too, Isaac, Jackson,” Derek ordered. The pack reluctantly parted to make way for Kate. She strode to her car and pulled out in a squeal of tires, cell phone already pressed to her ear. 

“She’s about to find out cell phones don’t work up here,” Lydia said smugly as she strolled over. Allison also joined the group, lowering her bow. The rest of the pack returned to human form, the glow fading from their eyes. Derek closed his own eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath.

It was done, he told himself. Now all he had to do was face the consequences of his decision.

He opened his eyes again and turned to Scott, who was clucking like a mother hen over Stiles’ blood-stained T-shirt. “How bad is it?”

Stiles quickly shook his head, tugging at his T-shirt, then rubbed his fingers on his forearm.

“He says it’s only a flesh wound,” Scott told Derek. “It looks worse than it is. I know, I know,” he said when Derek opened his mouth to reply. Scott pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m calling my mom to come check him over. Shut up, Stiles,” he added absently as Stiles started to object.

Stiles folded his arms and was working on an epic pout as Derek stepped toward him.

“Hey,” Derek said. “You know she’ll kill us if we don’t call her.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but acquiesced. He even stood quietly as Derek gently turned his face from side to side, checking for bruises. 

“You sure she didn’t hurt you?”

Stiles nodded, although Derek noticed he was still favoring his arm. Melissa would take care of it, he knew, so he let it go for now. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Stiles on the tip of his nose.

“Everything’s gonna be okay now,” Derek told him. “I promise.”

Stiles let out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering closed, and he leaned his forehead against Derek’s. Derek curled his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and closed his eyes as well.

“Get a room, you two,” Jackson grunted.

“They’ve got a room,” Erika said.

“They’ve got a house,” Isaac pointed out.

“Is it true, Derek?”

Surprised, Derek opened his eyes and glanced at Boyd. “What?”

“Is it true?” Boyd asked again. Derek realized was the first time his second had spoken since the attack. He stood slightly apart from the others, arms folded. “You were only supposed to be our Alpha for six months? And then you were gonna leave us?”

The rest of the pack stopped their chatter and turned to watch. In the silence that followed, Stiles took a step backward, out of Derek’s reach.

Derek took a deep breath, feeling a churning in his gut. “That was the original—"

“IS IT TRUE?” Boyd roared, his eyes flashing yellow.

“Yes! I mean…shit!” Derek rubbed his eyes as the pack stared at him in consternation. “It’s complicated.”

“I think we can handle complicated, Derek,” Allison said quietly.

Derek sighed in defeat. “When my father agreed to the treaty, he assigned me to this pack. It’s my first assignment,” he explained. “Kind of a trial run.”

Isaac sneered. “What, like an internship?”

“Kind of.” Derek rubbed his eyes again. “Once he knew I could handle the job—"

“He’d transfer you back to LA.” Lydia spoke flatly. “After you cleaned up Peter’s mess.”

Derek gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

“I don’t understand,” Erika said in a small voice. “Would we go to LA with you?”

Derek winced. “No. You’d stay here.” He winced again as the teens stared at him in shock. 

“That’s bullshit, Derek!” Scott stepped forward. “That’s not the deal we made.”

“I know, but—"

“We’re pack,” Scott said stubbornly. “How can that work when you’re not here?” 

Derek fought against the urge to squirm like a scolded pup. “Well, the original plan was that a sub-Alpha—"

“Another Alpha?” Erika stepped forward, too, her eyes wide. “Here?”

“Yes, but—"

“Who?” Boyd demanded, his massive arms still folded.

“That’s my father’s decision.”

The teens gaped at him again. 

Scott frowned. “What about you?”

The churning in Derek’s stomach grew worse. “I’d be assigned another pack—"

“Another pack?” Lydia interrupted. “In Los Angeles?”

Derek flinched. “Basically.”

Lydia’s voice grew sarcastic. “Then you and Kate would get married and live happily ever after.”

Derek ground his teeth, but forced himself to speak calmly. “Like I said, that was the original—"

“You would just move on to another pack, like nothing happened?” Erika’s voice rose in disbelief. 

“A more important pack.” Even as he scowled, there was a quaver in Jackson’s voice. “More important than us, out here in the sticks.”

“That wasn’t the agreement,” Scott insisted again, before Derek could answer. “The agreement was that the Hale Clan would assign us a new Alpha. A forever Alpha, not a babysitter.”

“I know!” Derek snapped. “Would you shut up for one second and let me explain?”

“What’s there to explain?” Lydia flung back her hair. “The real question is, when were you going to tell us?”

“Were you even going to tell us?” Isaac interrupted before Derek could answer. “Or were you just gonna up and go?”

“Of course not.” Derek scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I wasn’t expecting things to be like this—"

“You lied, Derek.” Allison’s voice was quiet, but steely.

“The hell I did!” Derek snarled.

Allison regarded him coolly, completely un-intimidated. “Lies of omission are still lies.” She turned away, taking Lydia’s hand. “Come on, Lyds.”

Lydia threw an anguished look at Derek, but allowed Allison to tug her toward the house. She reached out, snagged Jackson’s arm, and pulled him after her.

“Wait!” Panic sprouted inside Derek. “Would everyone just stop and listen to me?”

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.” Isaac said, then followed the others. 

“I didn’t know being an Alpha would be like this!” Derek said desperately.

“What did you think it meant?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know.” Derek gestured helplessly. “More of a job, less of a family.”

“I’m sorry we screwed up your _job_ ,” Erika sneered. She turned away as well. “Come on, Boyd.”

“All of you, STOP!” 

The pack hesitated, feeling the pull of Derek’s voice. “We need to talk about this,” he insisted.

Scott stepped closer, his jaw jutting pugnaciously. “What about Stiles?” he asked. “Were you just gonna dump him along with the rest of us?”

“No!” Derek finally forced himself to look at Stiles. The betrayal and hurt in his eyes almost cut him in half. 

“I meant every word I said to Kate,” Derek told him, praying Stiles would hear the truth in his words. “I don’t want to go back to LA. I want to stay here with you, with all of you.” He glanced around the group, then back at Stiles. “If you’ll have me.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. 

Then they went cold and dark. 

He stepped toward Derek, drawing back his fist.

Derek saw the punch coming, but forced himself to stand still and take it. 

Stiles’ rage lent him surprising strength. Derek’s head sang with the blow, and he heard the pack’s collective gasp of shock. 

For a moment, he actually staggered back and went down on one knee. Then he took a deep breath, stood, and met Stiles’ eyes again.

Stiles glared defiantly back, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Okay,” Derek said calmly. “I had that coming. Can we talk now?”

Stiles hesitated. 

Then he blinked rapidly, his face growing pale. Even as Derek felt his heartbeat stutter, Stiles dropped to his knees.

***

Scott and Derek lunged toward Stiles at the same time. Scott got there a half-second early and wrapped his arms around him to keep him from falling further. 

Derek crouched down and steadied his head.

“Stiles, look at me,” he ordered. “Stay back!” he snapped as the rest of the pack surged forward.

They ignored him, clustering around Stiles. His eyelashes fluttered again as he stared in bewilderment at Derek.

“It’s the magic,” Scott explained. “It always takes it out of him, and he hasn’t done anything that big in a while.” He nodded toward the ruined porch.

“Stiles, can you hear me?” Derek asked. “Breathe, okay? Breathe.”

Stiles took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. His color gradually returned, and Derek felt his heartbeat steady.

“Better?” he asked.

Stiles nodded absently. Then his eyes sharpened in recognition and anger, and he shoved Derek’s hand away from him. 

Derek stifled the hurt. “Scott—“

Scott nodded. “I’ll call my mom. Come on, buddy,” he told Stiles, tightening his grip. “You need to sleep it off.” 

“Put him in my bed,” Derek ordered.

Stiles glared ferociously at Derek and shoved him away again.

“Hey.” Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrist. “You sleep in my bed from now on, even when I’m not in it, you understand me?” He shook Stiles’ arm angrily. “The Alpha’s Mate doesn’t sleep on the goddamn floor.”

For a moment, Stiles glared back. Then he dropped his eyes in reluctant obedience, although his chin kept its stubborn tilt.

“Come on, buddy,” Scott said. “Up we go.” He pulled Stiles to his feet, supporting him as he stumbled toward the house. The rest of the pack hovered anxiously, Isaac darting forward to open the door.

Then they all disappeared inside, and Derek was left alone, on his knees, staring at his ruined house.


	39. Chapter 39

Laura called late that night. 

“Derek,” was all she said.

Derek closed his eyes. “Kate told you.”

“It’s not true, is it?” 

Derek didn’t answer.

“Oh, my God.” Laura’s voice started to shake. “I thought maybe she was lying, making things up because she was mad at you, but…”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said miserably. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“I know that, honey,” Laura whispered, “but my God, what have you done?”

Derek opened his eyes, staring blindly through his office window at the darkness outside. “Did you tell Mom and Dad?” 

Laura hesitated. “I wanted to talk to you first.” 

“I’m not changing my mind,” Derek said quickly. 

“Derek—“

“I’m not.”

“Okay, okay, but we need to talk about this. Before Dad…” Laura broke off. “We need to talk. Just the two of us.”

Derek hesitated. “I’m not coming home.”

“I’ll come up there. Tomorrow.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Laura, you have work.”

“Honey,” Laura said gently. “Tomorrow is Sunday.” 

“It is?” Derek rubbed his eyes. He’d completely lost track of time.

“Yes, it is. And even I can take some time off on Sunday.” 

“But Mom and Dad—"

“I’ll tell them I’m going in to the office. I do it often enough they won’t be suspicious, although Mom will fuss like she always does.” Laura imitated Kara’s voice. “‘How are you going to meet the father of my grandchildren when you work all the time?’”

Derek laughed, even as he felt tears prick his eyes. He felt a sudden longing for the familiar bickering of home and the loving if heavy-handed guidance of his older sister. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Come up to Beacon Hills. We can talk and you can meet my pack.” The thought made him feel warm inside. 

“Thank you,” Laura said softly.

“There’s an airport not far from here, if you—"

“No, I’ll drive,” Laura said. “It will attract less attention. If I leave soon I can be there in the morning.”

Derek frowned. “You shouldn’t drive all night, Laura.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“But—"

“Please,” she said. “Just trust me, little brother.”

Derek closed his eyes again. “Okay.”

“We’re going to figure this out together,” Laura said firmly. “Just don’t do anything reckless before I get there. Promise?”

“I promise.”

***

Derek slept little and, in the morning, paced the front porch until he heard Laura’s car approaching.

It was a cold, damp, miserable morning, with fog hanging heavy in the trees, surrounding the house and making the clearing feel small and claustrophobic. Sound was muffled, the screen door closing with a thud instead of its usual bang. The birds were silent.

Laura’s car was quiet, as well—a hybrid sedan that barely purred as it glided up the driveway and came to a stop.

Derek smiled when he saw its practical, dull grey exterior. It was the very opposite of Kate’s flashy red sports car. Likewise, Laura was dressed in jeans, turtleneck, and low-heeled boots under her sensible trench coat, her dark hair twisted in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She carried her briefcase and frowned down at her cell phone as she got out of the car.

“Can’t you get a signal up here?” she asked, a worried line between her brows. “What if there’s an emergency?”

Feeling a sudden rush of affection, Derek spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the wilderness,” he said. Before Laura could reply, he swept her into a hug, sniffing her neck and breathing in her familiar scent. _Apple cinnamon_ , he thought. Smart and sharp, but steady and practical.

Laura hugged him back fiercely, and he was surprised to find he was the taller of the two now, as if he’d grown in the last few months.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

“Oh, Derek.” Laura’s arms tightened around him. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I love you.” Derek gave Laura one last squeeze, then pulled back. “And I forgive you.”

Laura stared at him, mouth open. “What?”

Derek rested his hands on Laura’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know they’re here. Tell them to come out.”

Laura’s eyes welled up, the tears caught in her heavy dark lashes. “How?” she whispered.

“When I asked if you told Mom and Dad, you didn’t say no. You didn’t have to,” Derek added when Laura started to object. “Because Kate told them. It’s called a lie of omission.” 

Derek dropped his hands from Laura’s shoulders and slowly backed away. “I’ve learned there are a lot of ways we can lie to one another and get away with it,” he said bitterly. He raised his chin, nodding toward the woods. “Tell them to come out.”

Laura blushed in shame, then dropped her gaze and stepped back, the crunch of her feet on the gravel muted in the hushed quiet.

For a moment, there was stillness, broken only by the sound of water dripping from the trees. Then a half-dozen huge dark figures loomed out of the fog, while a long black car snaked up the driveway.

***

Derek forced himself to stay still as the intruders approached, fighting every instinct to shift and attack. 

He heard the screen door creak open behind him and sensed Scott’s presence, anxious and agitated.

“Derek?”

“Stay calm,” he said without turning around. “But get the others.”

“GUYS!” Scott bellowed, and Derek winced.

“I said stay calm!” he hissed.

“Sorry, dude,” Scott whined. Derek heard the thunder of teenage feet and raised his hand as the rest of the pack piled out of the house and onto the porch steps.

“Stay there,” he ordered sharply. “Don’t shift,” he added as his Betas eyes started to glow. “Remember what I taught you.”

The Betas growled uneasily, but obeyed, forming a tight ring around the three humans.

The intruders moved closer, half-shifted and menacing. Derek recognized them as the pick of his father’s elite guards. Most of them had known him since he was a pup.

The car door opened, and a tall figure got out. It was the Beta who had driven Derek from the beach house on his father’s orders. He opened the back door and another, narrower figure emerged.

Derek groaned. “Uncle Malcolm,” he said.

“Derek.” 

Kara’s brother Malcolm surveyed Derek with his usual frank disapproval. He had been Grayson Hale’s closest advisor since Kara and Grayson’s marriage. The fact that Grayson had sent him meant the Alpha was trying to contain the situation, not wanting word of the scandal to spread beyond his household even to the rest of the Hales by blood, let alone the larger clan.

Derek wondered if his father had taken Kate’s media savvy into account. She was probably giving an exclusive to Minxy Brown even now. 

_KEREK FOR REALS SPLITSVILLE THIS TIME!_ he thought sourly. _GORGEOUS MODEL DUMPED BY SICKO FREAK BOYFRIEND! HALE STOCK PLUMMETS! EXTRA! EXTRA!_

Derek gritted his teeth, stepped forward, and spread his arms again.

“Welcome to Beacon Hills, Uncle,” he said loudly. “May I offer you some refreshment? Or perhaps you and the rest of our guests would enjoy a run in our beautiful woods.” 

Derek looked around at the guards who had emerged from the trees, now arranged in a half-circle in front of his house. “Or should I say, another run in my woods? At any rate, I give you my permission.” He smiled, showing his teeth.

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed further behind his spectacles. He had thinning red hair and a neatly trimmed beard and was impeccably dressed in a suit with a tweed jacket, sweater vest, and tie. He looked like a tenured math professor, and had the sense of humor of a rock.

“No, thank you, Derek,” he said dryly. He removed his spectacles and polished them on his pocket handkerchief, then replaced them on his aquiline nose. “Your father wishes to have a word with you.”

“Wonderful. When may I expect the honor of his visit?”

“Derek!” Laura hissed. 

Derek folded his arms. “What? If Father wants to talk, he knows where I live.”

“Derek,” Laura scolded. “Don’t make things worse.”

“No, you already did that.”

Laura’s eyes filled with tears, and Derek regretted the jibe, but he clung to his anger and turned away. 

“Don’t blame your sister.” Malcolm stepped closer. “She’s a good daughter who has shown proper obedience to her Alpha. You, on the other hand—"

“Oh, here it comes.” Derek rolled his eyes. 

Malcolm continued as if Derek hadn’t spoken. “You have shown nothing but disrespect and dishonor since the day you were born. This latest incident is no surprise. Your lack of prudence and control once again threatens to bring shame on your family.”

“Skip the lecture,” Derek snapped. He knew Malcolm was deliberately baiting him but wouldn’t allow himself to lose control like he usually did. He wasn’t a teenager anymore and he had a pack to protect. “Just deliver your message and be gone.”

Malcolm raised his thin, sandy brows. “My dear Derek, I already have. Your father wishes to speak with you.” His light tenor voice dropped an octave. “ _Now_.”

The guards moved closer, and Derek felt his wolf rising to the surface, his claws and fangs threatening to emerge. Judging by the growls behind him, his pack was reacting the same way.

“Derek!” Laura moved between him and Malcolm and placed her palms on his chest. “Please. Don’t fight.”

“Get away from me,” Derek growled through his teeth, trying to shrug her off.

“Derek,” Laura pleaded, framing his face with her hands. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Your sister’s right, Derek.” Malcolm took another step closer and lowered his voice. “Be reasonable,” he murmured. “Either you come quietly, or we take the boy. It’s your choice.” His eyes flicked to the pack. 

Derek stiffened and risked a look behind him. Even with the rest of the pack clustered around him, Stiles stood out like…well, like a beacon: On the surface just a skinny kid in jeans and a red hoodie, as gangly and awkward as a newborn giraffe, but with pale skin and luminous eyes and lips like sin and a mind as sharp as a werewolf’s claw... 

Derek met Stiles’ eyes for a long moment. Stiles blushed and bit his lip, convulsively closing his long fingers on Scott’s shoulder—Scott, who stood in front of him as fiercely protective as a pit bull.

“This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed, Derek,” Malcolm purred in his ear. “No one has to get hurt.”

Derek closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “All right. I’ll come with you.” 

He heard his pack gasp in reaction, so he quickly opened his eyes again and raised his voice, pitching it so every wolf the clearing could hear. 

“I’ll come with you peacefully. I won’t fight. But I want protection for my pack. I want your guarantee they won’t be hurt because of what I’ve done.”

Malcolm smirked and stepped back. “Of course.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You have my word—"

“Your word isn’t good enough.”

For a second, Malcolm lost his vaunted control, and he hissed, eyes flaring yellow. “You impudent pup—"

Laura gave a warning growl, her eyes flashing red. Malcolm stepped back, shocked, and the guards shifted uneasily.

“I agreed to help because you promised Derek wouldn’t be hurt,” Laura said firmly. “Lay a claw on him and I might change my mind, _Beta_.”

Malcolm seethed visibly, but lowered his eyes in obeisance.

Laura turned back to Derek. “I’ll stay here, with your pack,” she told him, “if that will make you feel better. I won’t let any harm come to them, I promise.”

Derek felt his shoulders droop in relief. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Laura rubbed his back consolingly. “Now say goodbye.” She nodded toward the pack.

Derek approached them. He tried control his tears but it was impossible when he saw they were all crying helplessly, even Jackson.

“Come here,” he said, and the pack piled on him, clinging and sniffling.

“Shhh,” Derek soothed. “Everything will be okay, I promise.” 

For a second, he breathed in their scent, the scent of home, trying to memorize the feeling of belonging. He recalled the first time he’d met them all in this very clearing, how uncertain he’d felt. Now they were pack, closer to him than his own blood kin, and the thought of leaving them was unbearable.

Still, he steeled himself and pulled back. 

“Okay.” Derek cleared his throat, then spoke sternly. “While I’m gone, Laura’s in charge. You are to obey her as you would obey me. Actually,” he added. “Obey her _better_ than you obey me, okay?”

The pack laughed, wiping their tears. 

“Don’t give her any lip or attitude,” Derek continued. “Stiles, this means you.”

“Tick tock, Derek,” Malcolm said loudly. “Your father’s waiting.”

Jackson growled deep in his chest, then lunged toward Malcolm, eyes glowing blue. The guards responded in kind, surging toward the pack. Claws came out.

Laura quickly moved between the pack and the guards. “Hold!” she snapped.

At the same time, Derek put a hand on Jackson’s chest and shoved him back.

“Jackson!” He pointed a finger at him. “Behave.”

Jackson showed his teeth in a snarl but retreated. The guards subsided, as well, and Laura glared at Malcolm.

“For crying out loud, give him a minute.” 

Again, Malcolm reluctantly obeyed. “As you wish, Alpha.”

“Derek.” Laura’s eyes were compassionate but stern. “Finish.”

Derek resisted the urge to growl, but couldn’t resist the sarcasm. “As you wish, Alpha.”

Laura flushed angrily and looked away. Derek reminded himself that the pack were watching, and forced himself to smile.

“Okay,” he said, trying to speak briskly despite the catch in his voice. “Assignments. I don’t want this place going to the dogs while I’m gone, so…” He ticked off the items on his fingers. “Homework. Chores. Training. No excuses. Got it?”

Thankfully, the pack went along with the pretense, rolling their eyes at his nagging. Their bravery broke his heart.

“Boyd.” Derek turned toward his second, pulled the keys to the Camaro from his pocket, and handed them to him. Boyd’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

“Only for emergencies,” Derek cautioned. “But you should probably start her every day and maybe drive her a little, so her battery doesn’t die. An oil change wouldn’t hurt either. But no joyrides to the local makeout spot, okay?” 

Boyd laughed. “Okay.”

Derek clapped Boyd on the shoulder, then curled his hand around his neck, resting his hand on his bite mark, and pressed their foreheads together.

“You’re my rock,” he whispered. “Stay strong. The others need you.”

Boyd nodded, then straightened his shoulders and stared straight ahead, as steady as any soldier, although his jaw quivered with emotion.

Derek repeated the gesture one-by-one with the rest of the pack, breathing in their individual scents.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he told Erika. 

“I’m not crying.” She glowered at him through dark eye makeup smeared with tears.

“Good.” Derek tightened his hand on her neck reassuringly. “Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, okay?” He leaned closer. “And take Boyd to the makeout spot, will you? It’ll be good for him.” He winked.

Erika snorted through her tears, and wound her hand through Boyd’s. “Okay, boss.”

“Jackson.” Derek pressed their foreheads together, then pulled back.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. I’ll stay out of trouble, too.”

“Of course you will,” Derek said. “I have complete confidence in you.”

Jackson stared. “You do?” He recovered quickly. “I mean, of course you do.”

“But no slacking off on training,” Derek warned. “Pre-season may be over, but we've got a tough schedule in the spring, and I expect to come back to a winning lacrosse team.”

Jackson grinned smugly. “Done.”

Derek moved down the line to Isaac, who stared at his shoes, even when Derek touched his neck. “Isaac, I’m proud of you.”

Isaac glanced up in surprise, his blue eyes wide.

“I need you to do something for me,” Derek said.

“Anything,” Isaac stammered. 

“Tell Melissa what happened.“ Derek leaned closer. “And keep an eye on her. My family should leave her alone. She has protected status. But if they try to mess with her in any way…”

Isaac’s jaw tightened, and he raised his chin. “I’m on it.” 

“Good man.” Derek squeezed his neck approvingly, then moved to Allison. 

“Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone,” he said plaintively, and Allison laughed.

“I make no promises.”

Derek smiled. “You don’t bear my mark,” he said, “but I consider you part of my pack, and that means you’re always in my heart.” He rested his hand on her cheek. “You’re my warrior queen.”

Allison stared, her red lips forming a perfect little ‘O.’ Then she blushed, clearly flustered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Figure it out,” Derek said lightly. “Send me a postcard.”

Allison laughed again. “Done.”

Derek grinned and moved on. “Lydia.”

Lydia glowered, put her hand on her hip, and gave her best hair flounce. “I’m not crying,” she announced. 

“I can see that,” Derek said dryly, although Lydia’s cheeks were pink with emotion, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“Any orders for me, O Wise Leader?” she drawled.

“Do your homework,” Derek told her. “And go easy on Laura. None of this is her fault.”

“Hmmm….” Lydia narrowed her eyes at Laura, who stood watching, then gave one of her crocodile smiles. “Like Allison, I make no promises.”

Derek took Lydia’s hand, raised it to his lips, and lightly kissed his mark on her wrist.

Lydia blinked back tears, but spoke archly. “What’s my compliment? Allison and I can’t both be queens."

“Empress,” Derek said. “Empress of the Known World.”

Lydia actually giggled for a second before snatching her hand away. “Idiot,” she said fondly.

“Scott.” Derek stood in front of him.

Scott scowled at Derek. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” Derek said. Scott looked so miserable he couldn’t resist pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Scott sniffled against Derek’s chest. “I’m still mad,” he muttered again, even as he clung to him.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Derek soothed.

Scott’s voice was muffled. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you’re the bravest wolf I’ve ever met, and that’s good enough for me.” Derek pulled back, gripping Scott’s arms. “Take care of Stiles.”

Scott impatiently wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Dude, you know I always do.”

“Yeah, I know.” Derek ruffled Scott’s hair, then took a deep breath.

“Stiles,” he said, coming to the end of the line. He could feel the rest of the pack watching them intently. Malcolm let out a low growl, and Laura stepped forward.

“Derek,” she said. “You have to go.”

Derek’s control cracked. “Just give me another minute, Laura, please,” he begged.

Laura’s frown softened. “One minute,” she said. “And then you need to leave. You agreed,” she added.

Derek nodded. It felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest. 

He turned to Stiles again.

If Scott looked miserable, Stiles looked utterly wrecked. He was still suffering the effects of his magic work, and looked pale and fragile. His eyes were dark and enormous, swimming with emotion, and tears ran down his sharp cheekbones. 

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Derek told him. “I don’t even know _if_ I’ll be back.” He took a deep breath. “But will you wait for me?”

Stiles hesitated, then smacked Scott on the shoulder and made a series of gestures, ending with one that looked like opening a book.

“Dude, what?” Scott asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes and made the gestures again, emphasizing the book-opening one. 

“Oh.” Scott’s face cleared. “Like in the story?”

Stiles nodded vigorously, then pointed at Derek.

Scott turned to him. “He says it’s like in the story you told us.”

Derek frowned. “The story?’

Lydia leaned over. “The story of Mara and Kaius,” she whispered. “The love story.”

“Oh.” Derek blinked, remembering that night. It seemed an impossibly long time ago. “What about it?”

“It’s kinda doofy,” Scott said. “Ow!” he added as Stiles punched him in the arm. “Dude, okay!” 

Scott turned to Derek. “He says he’ll wait for you…” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Until the end of time.”

Stiles nodded, then raised his chin proudly and smiled at Derek.

“Oh,” Derek said again, softly. He felt touched beyond words. 

“Derek,” Laura said. “Your minute’s up. Time to go.”

“No, wait!” Derek turned to her. “Please!”

“Derek,” Malcom warned. “You’ve done enough damage as it is, don’t you think?” He gestured contemptuously at Stiles, his mouth twisting in disgust. “Don’t humiliate your father more with this unseemly display.”

“Excuse me, I’ll handle this,” Laura told Malcolm coolly, unimpressed by his answering glare. “You, start the car,” she told the driver.

The driver bowed, his face impassive, then climbed in the car, disappearing behind the smoked glass windows. 

Unlike Laura’s hybrid, the town car started with a roar, startling the birds from the trees. They flew off, squawking in protest. 

The guards closed in, and Laura stepped forward.

“Derek,” she said firmly. “Honey, it’s over. You’re just prolonging the inevitable.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek snapped. He turned back to Stiles. The pack drifted closer, as if sensing his intention. 

Derek took a deep breath. “Stiles Stilinksi, will you have me as your mate?”

In the stunned silence that followed, Stiles nodded, his eyes overflowing with tears. 

“He says yes,” Scott added unnecessarily. A surge of excitement moved through the pack. The girls squealed and clasped their hands, while the boys looked pleased and smug. Derek caught a glimpse of Laura covering her mouth in utter shock.

“Stop!” Malcolm roared, but Derek was already pulling the Hale collar from his pocket. Quick as lightning, he slipped it around Stiles’ neck, fastened the clasp, and spoke the traditional phrase: “Please accept this as a symbol of my troth.”

Ignoring the shouts of outrage from the guards, he wrapped his hand around Stiles’ neck and pulled him into a kiss. 

“I love you,” he whispered against Stiles lips. Stiles gave a helpless murmur deep in his throat. He stroked one hand against Derek’s cheek while clinging to his shirt with the other. Derek felt their heartbeats surge and sync together as one.

Too soon, it was over. Derek felt the guards grab his arms, forcibly pulling him away. Stiles gripped Derek’s shirt front as long as possible, until it was torn from his grasp. 

When the guards reached for Stiles, Derek’s pack moved in immediately, surrounding him in a protective circle as their claws and fangs came out. 

“Stay away from him!” Scott roared, while Erika, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson snarled viciously. Lydia stood directly in front of Stiles, shielding him with her body, while Allison pulled two knives out of nowhere and twirled them. An acrid smell filled the air, and the guards flinched.

“Wolfsbane.” Allison smiled sweetly. “Who wants to go first?”

Derek held up his hands, ignoring his instinct to struggle against his captors.

“I surrender,” he said. “Just leave my pack alone.”

“Pull back!” Laura ordered the guards when they hesitated. She turned at Derek, stunned. “What have you done?” 

"It was mine to give," Derek replied. 

At his nod, his pack edged backward as one until they regained the relative safety of the porch. It would be harder for the guards to attack them, since they had the height advantage, and both parties knew it.

“Okay.” Derek lowered his hands, shocked to realize they were trembling. “Okay.”

He turned to Malcolm and couldn’t resist a smirk. “ _Now_ I’m ready to go.”

“You young fool!” Malcolm slapped him across the face, claws out.

“No!” Laura cried out as Derek’s pack reacted with rage. Malcolm raised his hand for another blow, but Laura caught his wrist.

“Stop!” she ordered.

“Why?” Malcolm snarled. “He’s clearly not listening to reason.”

Derek sagged in the guard’s arms, hissing in pain, but held up his hand to forestall his pack from attacking. “I’m okay,” he told them as the slashes on his face started to close. “Stay with the plan,” he added in a low voice.

“Put him in the car!” Malcolm bellowed at the guards. “Get him out of here!”

As the guards dragged Derek toward the car, Derek looked back at Stiles, who stood with his arms wrapped around himself, Scott’s hand resting on his shoulder.

“I’ll be back, I promise,” Derek said. 

Then the guards surrounded him, pushing him into the darkness of the car. When one of them placed a hand on the back of his neck, Derek struggled instinctively. 

“Hold still!” the guard ordered.

“Get your hands off me!” Derek snarled.

A blow to the head stunned him momentarily, long enough for the guards to throw him on the back seat. 

Two sat in the facing seat while another two sat next to Derek, gripping his arms. Two more climbed in the front with the driver while Malcolm slid in the facing seat and rapped sharply on the glass with his knuckles.

“Move!” he ordered. “Now!”

The car engine roared, the tires spitting gravel, as it accelerated backward down the driveway and turned, throwing the occupants to one side.

Derek took advantage of the confusion, struggling to sit up and look out the back window even though his head was spinning. He caught one last glimpse of his pack and his mate standing on the front porch of his home before the clearing disappeared into the fog and the trees.

_End, Part One_


	40. Chapter 40

_Part Two_

Despite his pounding heartbeat, Derek managed to stay relatively calm — until the car pulled up at the tiny airport outside Beacon Hills. It was raining in earnest now, and through the darkened windows of the limo, Derek could see a small plane bearing the Hale Corporation logo. Its lights were on, the engine humming like an ill-tempered wasp.

Panic seized him.

Like most werewolves, Derek found flying disconcerting, although he’d never actually feared it. Now, the thought of being shoved in that narrow metal tube, forcibly taken away from his home, his pack, his mate…

Derek started shaking. A low growl built in his throat.

Malcolm heaved a put-upon sigh. From his jacket pocket, he pulled a syringe and a small vial filled with a pale, purple-colored liquid. Derek recognized it as a highly diluted form of wolfsbane, commonly used as a sedative.

“No!” Derek lunged across the guard to his left — catching him by surprise — then wrenched open the door and dove out into the rain.

The guard tackled Derek just as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his ankle as tightly as any snare. Derek went down hard, digging his claws into the slick surface of the tarmac as he was dragged relentlessly backward.

He fought. In the end, it took all six guards plus the driver to hold him down long enough for Malcolm to inject the syringe into his straining neck muscles.

The last thing Derek saw was Malcolm shaking out his linen handkerchief and dabbling fastidiously at a bloody slice along his jaw where Derek had clawed him.

“I’m really sorry you made all of this necessary, Derek,” he said, his voice dry as a bone. “Your mother’s going to be so disappointed.”

***

In the darkness, Derek dimly sensed his body being strapped into a seat, then pressed backwards by the force of the airplane rising. 

He dreamed of his pack, his brain sorting restlessly through his memories.

He recalled his first glimpse of them in the rain, carrying sticks and wearing helmets that elongated their faces.

_One of them pulled off his helmet and approached. “I’m Scott McCall.” He smiled sardonically. “Should we get this over with?”_

Derek remembered claiming his pack one by one, their blood salty and rich on his tongue. 

That first anxious meeting, crowded around the table. 

Stiles sauntering into the room in a burst of sunlight.

_The wolf leapt and bit deep, ignoring Stiles’ sharp inhale as Derek’s teeth sank into his neck._

He remembered those first uncomfortable weeks, trying to find his balance, trying to build trust. 

He remembered the night of the storm, finding Stiles in the clearing after the car crash, his hands glowing with power, surrounded by a halo of greenish light like a cloud of fireflies. 

_“Did Peter ever hurt you?”_

He recalled running for hours in the pouring rain, Stiles collapsing on the lacrosse field, face pale and drawn…

Derek whimpered and struggled against the seatbelt, trying to break free, desperately aware that his pack needed him. _Stiles_ needed him.

He remembered the challenge, fighting the intruders alongside his pack, Alec attacking Stiles.

He remembered their first kiss…

_“Mine.”_

As the plane banked, Derek fought to open his eyes, then stared blearily out the tiny round window. Far below in the forest, there was a clearing in the trees and the ruins of a small white house. 

He remembered the anniversary of the fire. The morning after, falling in the forest, mouth twisting in agony against the wet ground.

He remembered Kate.

_“He’s one of them, isn’t he? One of the accursed.”_

He remembered the hurt and bewilderment in the faces of his pack as the truth finally came out.

_“Is it true, Derek? You’re gonna leave us?”_

Derek fought, but his eyelids drooped shut again, darkness swirling behind them. The memories came faster.

_After Stiles punched him and the pack went inside, Derek was left alone, on his knees, staring at his ruined house. After a while, he got up, climbed in the Camaro, and drove to the hardware store._

_He returned with supplies and started replacing the ruined porch pillar. Working with his hands calmed him, as it always did._

_After a while, Jackson came out of the house. He didn’t speak, just started helping Derek._

_A little while later, Isaac joined them, sweeping the broken glass off the porch and into a trash bin._

_Boyd took his van and returned with new windows. It took most of the afternoon, but they managed to replace the broken windows. Allison and Erica carefully painted the trim on the new ones, along with the new pillar._

_Scott refused to come outside at first, but swept up the splinters and bits of glass that had made their way into the house. Then he made a lunch run in Boyd’s van._

_Still, nobody spoke._

_As evening arrived, they finished and stepped back to examine their work. The house was completely repaired, the new windows shining warmly in the golden light of the setting sun. As the sound of hammering faded, the birds returned, softly singing their night-is-coming song._

_“I want to stay here,” Derek said quietly. “With Stiles. With all of you. I don’t want to go back to LA.” He took a deep breath, but his voice broke anyway. “My family will come for me soon, and I don’t know what to do.”_

_Lydia appeared in front doorway, her red hair looking particularly resplendent in the evening glow. “We need a plan,” she said._

_***_

_Hours later in his office, Derek stared at the laptop screen, which seemed to blur before his eyes._

_“Are you sure?” he asked._

_Lydia sighed impatiently. “Like I said, if Stiles accepts your proposal and you collar him in the presence of witnesses, your engagement should be considered legally valid.”_

_Derek raised his eyebrows. “Should be?”_

_“As near as I can figure from six hours of research,” Lydia replied tartly. “I’m hardly an expert in were law. You are, Mister Bigshot Los Angeles Attorney.”_

_Derek shook his head. “Corporate law,” he said. “Not domestic. And Stiles is human, not were.”_

_“Not human,” Lydia corrected. “Witchborn. And the law doesn’t specify.”_

_Derek blinked in surprise. “It doesn’t?”_

_“Nope.” Lydia briskly tapped a few keys, highlighting a passage. “See here?”_

_Derek leaned closer. “What am I looking at?”_

_Lydia tapped the screen with her fingernail. “The law **assumes** the other party is were, but it doesn’t actually **say** it. Nulla poene sine lege,” she added haughtily as Derek continued to stare at her._

_“Uh…gesundheit?” he replied._

_Lydia rolled her eyes. “Everything not forbidden is allowed,” she translated. “It’s a classic legal principle.”_

_Derek wearily rubbed his eyes. “Human law, not were.”_

_“It may not be stated,” Lydia argued stubbornly. “But it’s still there. Besides,” she said, turning back to her laptop. “There’s precedent. Several previous rulings show that, even when a prior understanding exists — as with your family’s contract with Kate’s clan — it’s not considered fully binding without a formal collaring. At the very least,” she added, “it should be enough to tie you up in the courts for months.”_

_“And Kate’s family might not want to risk the humiliation of that,” Derek said slowly._

_“Exactly,” Lydia said smugly, closing her laptop. “Bitch talks big, but it’s her Alpha who will decide whether or not to file suit. Given your family’s status and money, it could be a long, expensive, and very public trial.”_

_“In which case, both parties might agree to quietly settle out of court,” Derek said. Tears pricked his eyes as hope rose in his heart. He seized Lydia about her tiny waist, lifted her out of her chair, and swung her around. “Lydia, you’re a genius!”_

_“Obviously,” Lydia replied, calmly tucking a strand of hair back in her braid as Derek set her down. “But we have a bigger problem than Kate.”_

_Derek blinked at her again. “We do?”_

_Lydia sighed. “Her car, Derek.”_

_Derek pictured Kate’s bright red sports car. “What about it?”_

_Lydia reached up and rapped Derek’s forehead sharply with her knuckles._

_“Ow!” he protested._

_“How was Kate able to drive here?” Lydia asked loudly. “Her car should have died halfway up the hill.”_

_Derek stared at her. “You’re right. Stiles’ wards should have stopped her.”_

_“Especially given that Kate was coming here with ill intent,” Lydia said grimly. “She shouldn’t have been able to get near this house.”_

_As the realization settled heavily on him, Derek’s knees gave out and he slowly sank into the chair Lydia had vacated._

_“Stiles’ magic is weakening,” he said._

_“That’s not the only thing that’s weakening,” Lydia said softly. “Have you looked at Stiles lately? I mean, in a way that’s not completely besotted? He’s thinner,” she added before Derek could reply. “Paler. Twitchier, as if that were even possible. His episodes, or whatever’s going on with his heart…” Lydia fluttered her hand vaguely. “They’re happening more frequently.”_

_“But the doctor checked him out,” Derek objected. “Melissa said they couldn’t find anything wrong. Although he has a follow-up appointment next week,” he added, remembering the slip of paper he had found in Stiles’ pocket._

_Lydia shook her head. “Trust me — just because the doctors couldn’t find something doesn’t mean something isn’t there. You’re a werewolf,” she sighed at Derek’s puzzled expression. “You don’t get how human illnesses work. They’re insidious. Sneaky. And if what we’re dealing with is magical…” Lydia shrugged. “Who knows?”_

_“Shit.” Derek rubbed his eyes, casting his mind back over the last few weeks. So much had happened—the anniversary of the fire, and before that the challenge, and before that the storm…_

_Derek looked up. “The trees,” he said. “Do you think this has something to do with the trees being poisoned? Deaton seemed to think that was just mischief.”_

_“Deaton doesn’t know everything,” Lydia pointed out._

_Derek leaned forward and caught her hand urgently. “Lydia—“_

_“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out,” she said, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. Then she frowned. “I should have been researching this whole time, but that’s usually Stiles’ job.”_

_“Do you think he’s been looking into it?”_

_“I guarantee it,” Lydia drawled._

_Derek frowned. “But why hasn’t he—“_

_His cell phone rang._

_Derek glanced at the screen, and his hands went cold. “It’s Laura,” he whispered._

_Lydia put her hand on his shoulder. “Answer it,” she said calmly. “And for God’s sake, act normal.”_

_Derek hit the answer button with a shaking hand. “Hello?”_

_Five minutes later, he hung up the phone, numb with shock. By then the entire pack, except for Stiles, had gathered and were watching, wide-eyed._

_For a moment, there was silence. Then Erika tentatively spoke. “Are you okay?”_

_“Laura lied to me,” Derek said thickly. “She’s never lied to me before.” He rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. “I didn’t even think it was possible." He laughed bitterly. “But I guess I lied to her, too. I mean, I really did want her to meet all of you. Just not like this.”_

_“Derek.” Allison stepped forward. “When are they coming?”_

_Derek raised his head, trying to focus. “First thing in the morning.”_

_Allison gave a firm nod. “We’ll be ready.”_

_“Damn straight,” Isaac said._

_“Listen up, everyone.” Lydia clapped her hands together briskly. “We have an idea.”_

_The pack listened intently as Lydia outlined the plan. Their eyes lit up, except for Jackson’s._

_“This fixes things for you and Stilinksi,” he said belligerently, “but what about the rest of us?”_

_Derek put his hands on Jackson’s shoulders. “I want to stay for all of you,” he said firmly. “Not just Stiles. All of you. Okay?”_

_Jackson’s mouth twisted, but he looked somewhat mollified._

_Derek turned to the others. “Lydia’s plan should at least buy us some time, so I can make my case to my father that I should stay.”_

_“Maybe,” Boyd said. “But aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?”_

_Lydia put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean?”_

_“Last I checked, Derek was pretty deep in the doghouse. What if Stiles says no?”_

_There was a sharp rap on the doorframe, and the pack turned._

_Stiles leaned heavily against the frame, still clearly exhausted and with a serious case of bed head. But his eyes were clear._

_“What do you say, Stilinski?” Jackson asked. “Still want the big lug?”_

_Stiles pointed at Derek, then thumped his fist on his heart. His actions spoke clearly:_

_**Mine** _

_Derek barely slept that night. He didn’t even bother with his bed. Instead, the entire pack piled into the common room with pillows and blankets. Derek and Stiles slept in the middle of the pile, and the others arranged themselves around them, limbs entangled, so that they were all touching._

_As they slept, Derek listened to their breathing and the sound of the trees sighing overhead and prayed harder than he’d ever prayed in his life._

_**Please, please, please** , he thought. **Let me keep this.**_

As the plane landed, Malcolm roughly shook Derek awake.

“Get up, mongrel,” he ordered. “Your father’s waiting.”

***

The sunlight was bright in Los Angeles, unbearably so. Derek winced as he emerged from the plane. His head instantly began to throb in the intense light, and his eyes burned. But at the same time he felt desperately cold and shivered uncontrollably. His bones ached. His feet seemed far away, and there was a buzzing in his ears like a swarm of bees. He stumbled on the way down the narrow stepladder from the plane and swayed, catching himself momentarily against the flimsy rail.

There was another limo with smoked windows waiting on the tarmac, but even as the guards hustled Derek toward it, it seemed to recede into the far distance. Meanwhile, the tarmac was rapidly and inexplicably getting closer and closer. 

The crunch of his nose breaking against the pavement startled Derek momentarily, but even that sensation quickly faded into blackness.

As it did, Derek realized — belatedly — that something was terribly, terribly wrong. 


	41. Chapter 41

_They argued that night, while the rest of the pack slumbered around them in the darkness. It was only later that Derek realized they hadn’t used Stiles’ cell phone, or even a notebook and pencil. Stiles lay with his head on Derek’s chest, so Derek couldn’t read his expression either, even with his night vision. Instead they communicated solely by touch and scent._

_A thump of Stiles’ fist on Derek’s heart and an acrid scent meant he was angry._

_“I get it,” Derek said. “You want to fight them. But Lydia’s plan is safer.”_

_A sharp exhale against Derek’s skin signaled Stiles’ irritation. “I know you fought Kate,” Derek said, aware that his reasonable tone would only annoy Stiles further. “This is different.”_

_Stiles shifted restlessly. Derek wrapped his arms more firmly around him, until his movements stilled and his scent grew more subdued._

_“I know you beat Kate,” Derek said again. “But look what it did to you.” He pressed his chin into the top of Stiles’ head to emphasize his point. “You’re so exhausted you can barely walk. Speaking of which, I want you to go see the doctor while I’m gone. Deaton, too. ”_

_Stiles growled, drumming his fingers impatiently against Derek’s breastbone._

_“Because I’m worried about you.” Derek took a deep breath. “And I’m scared,” he admitted._

_The drumming stopped._

_“I’m scared about what’s happening with you and I’m scared…”_

_Derek hesitated, and Stiles snuggled closer, rubbing his palm over Derek’s chest. Derek took another breath._

_“I’ve never gone against my pack before,” he whispered. “I’ve never disobeyed my Alpha. I’ve always done everything they told me to.”_

_Stiles’ movement stilled. He started to pull his hand away, but Derek quickly caught it, kissing his palm._

_“No, I’m not changing my mind,” he said._

_He intertwined his fingers with Stiles’ and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze._

_“I love you, and you’re my mate,” he said firmly. “I’m just…” Derek let out a long sigh, feeling the tips of Stiles’ hair tickle his lips. “I’m scared.”_

_Stiles hesitated, then rubbed the pad of his thumb tentatively against Derek’s palm._

_“Absolutely not,” Derek said sternly. “I’m not going to marry Kate and keep you on the side, just to make peace with my family. You deserve better than that, and so do I. Hell, so does Kate.” A disturbing thought occurred to him. “Unless…have you changed your mind? Do you want out? Because—“_

_Stiles flicked his middle finger against Derek’s forehead, as sharp as a bee sting._

_“Ow!”_

_Scott jerked awake, then turned over with a sigh. “Go to sleep, idiots,” he said._

Remembering, Derek murmured in contentment and reached out for Stiles.

He wasn’t there.

Derek struggled to open his eyes, but they seemed glued shut, the darkness thick and oppressive.

Something was wrong, he realized. He wasn’t lying in his bed, or in a pile of pillows on the living room floor, surrounded by his pack.

He was prone, but on a hard surface that continually shifted underneath him, humming. His limbs felt heavy and useless, and he could feel something sticky adhering to his face and trickling between his lips. He recognized the sharp, coppery taste.

Blood.

A surge of panic jolted through Derek like a bolt of electricity. He tried to move again, but something heavy lay across his legs, pinning him down. 

For a terrifying second, he thought he was caught in a leg-trap like a wild wolf. He’d have to gnaw his own limb off to escape.

Derek gave a desperate growl, trying to shift. He could feel his fangs and claws just beneath the surface of his skin, trying to emerge. He scrabbled uselessly at the surface beneath him, but his fingers remained human and helpless. 

Suddenly, the movement underneath him stopped. Light flashed overhead, and Derek’s heart pounded in panic. Dark figures crowded around. Where they touched him, pain blossomed, unbearable, and Derek screamed in agony.

The darkness came back.

***

Awareness returned, eventually, but Derek had no sense of how much time had passed. The surface underneath him was stable now, and soft. The light was dim rather than harsh.

But something harsh had woken him. 

Voices.

A woman’s, shrill with panic. “…Christ, Malcolm, how much did you give him?”

A man’s, defensive. “…standard dose, I swear to…”

“…what’s wrong…”

“…how the hell should…”

“…you said you would handle…”

Sneering. “…didn’t think he’d make it necessary…”

A third voice, authoritative. “Enough!” 

Derek flinched at the roar. It was his father. A panicked whimper built in the back of his throat.

The voice continued. “…needs a healer…”

The bickering started again.

“…call someone…”

“…and have the whole world find…”

“…other options…”

“…no time…”

Shrill. “…my house!”

Loud again. “Be reasonable, Kara! Your son is dying.”

 _Dying?_ Derek thought. _I’m dying? That explains why I feel like shit._

Then: _I’m a werewolf. Why the fuck aren’t I healing?_

The voices continued. Derek wanted to beg them to be quiet and just let him die in peace. Eventually, they faded away, like yapping dogs. Derek let out a sigh of relief and prepared for death.

Only something was niggling at him, like an itch under the surface of his skin.

Derek tried to ignore the itch, but it refused to go away.

In fact, it grew stronger, until it was a buzzing, humming sensation, as persistent as a hive of bees.

_I don’t want to die._

Terror overwhelmed Derek, and he struggled to move. He screamed, but it came out in a hoarse whimper.

“Help me. Please.”

“Shhhh…” A calm voice spoke while a hand brushed his hair. A familiar, comforting scent washed over him. “I’m here.”

Derek whimpered again, trying to speak.

“Don’t be silly, you’re not going to die,” the voice said briskly. “Now drink this.” A firm hand supported his neck while a cold glass pressed against his lips.

Derek obeyed, then choked as the liquid hit his tongue.

“I know it tastes terrible,” the voice soothed. “But finish it.”

Derek gulped down the liquid, wincing at the bitter aftertaste, then lay back. He felt exhausted from the effort, as if he’d run a marathon. 

“Get some sleep, Little Wolf,” the voice ordered. “You’ll feel better soon.” The gentle hand stroked his hair again, and Derek finally recognized the comforting scent that accompanied the touch.

“Margery,” he whispered.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said. 

Derek fought to open his eyes, and caught a glimpse of a pale blue wall and pillows supporting his upper back. A baseball glove swam into focus on a shelf. His childhood room.

Derek felt an overwhelming sense of safety, and his limbs started to relax. He closed his eyes again.

“That’s right,” Margery murmured. “Just sleep.”

But Derek fought. Something was still wrong. He’d recognized the room, but something was missing. He wanted to sleep, but something kept nagging him.

The itch came back, deep in his skin, and he finally recognized the source of the discomfort.

 _Pack_ , he thought frantically.

That was what was missing. He didn’t sense his pack, couldn’t smell them nearby. And Stiles…

Derek struggled to get up, but Margery pressed a firm hand against his chest, pushing him back easily.

“Your pack is fine,” she soothed. “Your sister is taking care of them.”

Derek tried to object. There were a million things about the pack that Laura didn’t know, and Derek hadn’t had time to tell her. Jackson and Erika act tough, but they’re not. Isaac and Stiles look fragile, but they’re not. Boyd needs to know you trust him. Scott needs to be able to trust you. And for crying out loud, Lydia--

“Shhh,” Margery’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Don’t fret about anything right now, little one. Just rest.”

Despite his fears, Derek felt himself obeying. As he slid under, he clutched at Margery’s hand. Like Stiles, she read his thoughts from his touch.

“I’m here,” she said firmly. “And I’m not going anywhere. Now sleep.”

Derek gave in and slept.


	42. Chapter 42

_Hey, kids! Sorry for the long wait and the short chapter! The next one is already in the hopper and should be up soon. Expect major fireworks!_

_In the meantime, thanks so much for hanging in there with this story. I can’t tell you how much it means to me._

***

When Derek awoke, Margery was gone, and his mother sat in her place. 

He blinked in confusion, half-blinded by the bright sunlight pouring through the windows. The sun was sinking over the ocean, which meant it was late afternoon, heading toward evening.

It took a few tries for Derek to open his mouth. His lips felt dry and brittle from lack of use. “Mom?” he croaked.

Kara smiled and squeezed his hand, her rings pressing painfully into his skin. Her luxuriant red hair, backlit by the sun, was like a fiery halo around her head. “How do you feel, darling?”

Derek hesitated, cautiously moving his limbs. He felt weak, but not dizzy or in pain. “Better, I guess. What the hell happened to me?” 

Kara let out a breath of relief, then gently stroked his hair. “You had a severe allergic reaction to the sedative.” Her voice trembled. “You nearly died.”

Derek stared at her. “I did?” He rubbed his eyes as the memories came swarming back. The devouring darkness, the pain and terror. Faces swirling overhead, voices coming and going.

“…reacted like that before.”

Derek blinked at his mother again. “What?”

“I said you never reacted like that before. We had no idea.”

Derek frowned. “I’ve never taken a sedative.”

His mother’s hand stilled on his hair. “We used to give it to you occasionally,” she said finally. “When you were very young and wouldn’t…settle down. But I swear it never affected you like that.”

Derek yawned and stretched. “So why now?”

Kara’s hands fluttered nervously, her rings catching the light. “We don’t know. Your chemical signature has changed. The specialist said it might have something to do with you developing an allergy.”

“What do you mean?”

Kara hesitated. “Your scent, darling. It’s different.”

Derek gave himself a cautious sniff. Aside from a faint sickly odor, he seemed to smell the same. “I don’t—"

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

Derek thought about it, then realized he was ravenous, a sure sign that the healing process was complete. “I could eat.”

“Good.” Kara rose and straightened the counterpane, her movements brisk and precise. “I’ll have a tray sent up.”

Derek frowned. He remembered being unbearably thirsty, deliriously begging for water. A gentle touch on his face, cool liquid down his throat. “Where’s Margery?”

Kara drew the curtains to block the sun, adjusting the pleats so they hung straight. “Is that better? The specialist said your eyes might be sensitive to light for a while.”

“It’s fine, Mom. Where’s Margery?”

“She has the day off.”

Derek frowned. “Margery never takes time off.”

Kara turned, her expression stern. “Margery spent days caring for you, Derek,” she said reprovingly. “She refused to leave your side. She was exhausted, dead on her feet, so I insisted she rest.”

Derek stared at her. “Days…how long have I been here? Mom,” he added sharply when she didn’t reply. “What day is it?” He looked around him for some clue, but the room revealed nothing.

Kara hesitated. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” Derek gaped at her, appalled. He’d left Beacon Hills on Sunday, so…

“My pack!” he said. He tried to sit, but ended up fighting helplessly against the welter of pillows and blankets in the bed.

Kara hurried over. “Sweetheart, calm down.”

“Calm down?” Derek snapped. “I’ve been here three fucking days. I need to check on my pack.”

“Your pack is fine,” Kara said firmly. “Laura is looking after them.”

“Laura…”Derek paused, remembering his sister’s promise. “Are they okay?” he asked, embarrassed when his voice broke a little.

“They’re fine,” Kara said again. “Laura has called home every night.”

Derek scowled, ignoring the unspoken reproof. “Does the pack know I was sick?” he asked. “Were they worried about me?” _Stiles_ , he thought, with a flutter of panic. 

Kara shook her head. “I don’t know what Laura told them, but I’m sure the pack is under her control.”

“The hell with that.” Derek sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, impatiently shoving aside the blankets. He realized he was naked except for soft grey sweat pants. No doubt Margery had washed his clothes while he was ill. She’d have made sure there were clean ones in the wardrobe, though. Derek rose, staggering a little until he gained his balance. The dizziness quickly vanished, and he began opening dresser drawers at random and rummaging through them. 

Kara sighed audibly. “Derek, what are you doing?”

“I need to call home.” Derek found a pair of socks that seemed to match and tossed them over his shoulder toward the bed, followed by boxer briefs.

Kara frowned. “Later, darling. First you need to eat something and then get cleaned up.”

Derek gave himself another cautious sniff. Yeah, he was a little gamey, but nothing a wolf couldn’t handle. 

“Later, Mom,” he said. “Right now I need to call Laura.” He pulled a pair of jeans from a drawer.

“Derek.”

“Where the hell is my cell phone?” Derek absently rubbed his hand over his heart. He could sense his connection with Stiles and with the pack, but if felt distant and weak. The sensation made him feel jittery and anxious, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

“Derek.”

He glanced at the desk, but it was empty except for a few books stacked neatly next to the lamp. He checked the bedside table, impatiently shoving aside the few items arranged there—a notebook and pencil, a half-empty glass of water, a crumpled tissue. 

“Where’s my phone?” he asked again. “And where’s my wallet?” He felt anger rising. “Did you _take_ them? For Christ’s sake, Mom—” 

“Derek!”

Derek looked up in surprise at his mother’s sharp tone. “What?”

“You need to eat something, then wash up and come downstairs. Right now.”

“Why?”

“Your father wants to speak with you.”

Derek’s shoulders sagged as he remembered, belatedly, how much trouble he was in. He sat on the bed, anxiously balling the socks in his hands. “Can’t I call Laura first? I promise—“

Kara shook her head, her expression regretful. “No, sweetheart. Your father insisted on seeing you as soon as you were awake and out of danger.” 

To Derek’s surprise, she leaned over and cupped his face in both hands. Her touch was dry and cool against his skin, but he could feel her fingers trembling a little.

“No matter what happens,” Kara said fiercely, “I need you to know that I love you.” Her grip tightened. “Do you understand that?”

“Of course,” Derek stammered, unnerved by his mother’s intensity. 

Kara pulled Derek’s head toward her and kissed his forehead. ‘’You are my son, Derek,” she whispered against his brow, “and I will always I love you. Always. From the moment you were born, I knew…” 

Kara broke off abruptly, biting her lip. Then she carefully pulled back and stood upright again. 

“Well.” She gave a wobbly smile. “Listen to me getting all sentimental on you.”

She reached out and lightly brushed her fingertips against Derek’s hair. “Get dressed and come downstairs, sweetheart,” she said. “Your father is waiting.”

***

Derek realized in the shower that his hands were shaking with anxiety. When he emerged, toweling his hair, a covered tray sat on his desk, but he felt far too nervous to eat. He dressed and hurried downstairs, running his hand through his still-damp hair to smooth it down. His father wouldn’t like that it had gotten so unkempt. He should have shaved, too, but his hands had trembled too hard to hold a razor.

Derek paused at the foot of the grand staircase, trying to breathe deeply to steady his nerves. But the air in his parents’ home felt sterile and suffocating. Scents seemed deadened – potpourri instead of fresh flowers, air conditioning instead of a cool breeze through the forest. It was unnaturally quiet, far too quiet for such a busy household. Derek suspected the majority of the staff had been sent away, lest word of the scandal spread. He wiped his suddenly-sweaty palms on his jeans, wishing he had taken the time to put on a suit.

“Stop it,” he told himself. “You’re an Alpha now. Act like it.”

He raised his chin, straightened his shoulders, and opened the door to his father’s study.

***

Like Derek’s room, the study faced west. The sun was even lower on the horizon now, fierce rays piercing the windows and making Derek blink. Grayson stood looking out at the ocean, 

“Dad?”

Grayson turned, but the light dazzled Derek’s eyes, obscuring his father’s expression. 

“Sit down, Derek.”

Derek’s brief burst of bravado vanished, and instinct kicked in – the instinct to submit to his Alpha. He sat in the chair his father indicated, feeling like a pup with his tail between his legs.

Grayson loomed closer, blocking the sun, his face still in shadow. 

There was a soft swishing sound as the curtains closed smoothly behind him, bringing blessed dimness. As his eyes adjusted, Derek saw his mother with her hand on the wall switch that controlled the drapes. He’d been so flustered he hadn’t even realized she was there.

Kara gave him Derek a tight but reassuring smile and sat in a winged chair to the right of him, tucking her legs demurely to the side. Her hair and makeup were flawless now, her previous anxiety muted. The only hint of nervousness she gave was a brief tug to adjust her pastel twin-set, following by a quick smooth of her skirt. Someone who didn’t know her would never even have caught the movement. 

Then she folded her hands and waited. 

A sudden noise to Derek’s left made him jump. He turned as Malcolm dragged up a chair and sat, glaring. To Derek’s surprise, his impeccably dressed uncle looked slightly mussed. His pressed shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his hair slightly disheveled. He held a tumbler of ‘bane bourbon, the ice tinkling in the glass as his hand shook.

Derek felt his body react instinctively to the scent of wolfsbane. His throat tightened and his claws itched to extend as he remembered being tackled to the tarmac and restrained, the needle in Malcolm’s hand piercing his neck, bringing oblivion. He growled.

“Derek."

Startled by his father’s voice, Derek lurched in his chair, his heart pounding.

“Yes, Alpha?”

To his surprise, rather than addressing Derek from behind his mammoth desk, Grayson placed a chair in front of him and sat, closing the circle.

Then he gave Derek a smile, strained but genuine. “I’m not your Alpha right now, Derek,” he said gently. “I’m your father.” 

He leaned forward. “And I think it’s high time we had a little chat.”


	43. Chapter 43

Before Derek could answer, Grayson sighed heavily. “The truth is, I blame myself.”

Derek stared at his father in confusion. “Blame yourself for what?”

“I failed you, Derek.”

Derek’s confusion turned to shock. “Dad,” he said quickly. “You’ve never failed me in your life. Not even once.”

Grayson shook his head. “I hadn’t realized how much stress you’ve been under. I gave you too much responsibility and too little guidance. And when you reached out to me, I failed you.”

“When I reached out to you…” Derek glanced at his mother, but her expression gave nothing away. “Dad,” Derek said helplessly, “what are you talking about?”

Grayson leaned back in his chair. “The last time we talked.” 

Derek belatedly remembered their conversation, the morning after his final disastrous tryst with Kate.

_Just do your best, son. That’s all we ask._

“We spoke of sacrifice and duty, remember?” Grayson sighed again. “I realize now your response was a cry for help.”

“A cry for…” Derek put his head in his hands. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s all right, son.” Derek felt his father’s heavy paw on his shoulder. “I’m here for you now.”

“No.” Irritated, Derek raised his head and jerked his shoulder, dislodging Grayson’s hand. “My feelings for Stiles are not a cry for help.”

There was silence as the three elders looked at him in disapproval. 

“What?” Derek asked. “That’s what this is about, right? The fact that I fell in love with a human?”

Grayson’s brows came together in a glower. Kara’s lips tightened. Malcolm’s ice rattled in the glass.

Derek folded his arms. “Please don’t tell me we’re going to ignore the fox in the hedge.”

Silence.

“The matter is not up for discussion?” Derek goaded. “You drag me down here against my will and we’re not even going to talk about it?”

“Of course not, son,” Grayson said stiffly. “You can talk to us about anything.”

“Your father’s right.” Kara placed a soothing hand on her husband’s arm. “We can talk about this.” She turned to Derek. “Sweetheart, how long have you had these feelings?”

Derek breathed a sigh of relief. “Since the moment I met him,” he said. “But I didn’t recognize it right away. I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this.”

Kara frowned delicately. “Like what?”

“The mating urge.” Derek placed his hand on his heart. “I can feel it, in here, and so can Stiles. Just like the songs and stories say.”

Kara and Grayson exchanged glances. Grayson gave her a subtle nod.

“Have you tried not having these feelings, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” Derek said. “I mean, Jesus — Stiles is seventeen. I know age isn’t a big deal for us,” he added, “but it is for humans. Eighteen is the age of consent, so I promised to wait—”

“For pity’s sake,” Malcolm interrupted. “How much more do you need to hear, Alpha?”

“Malcolm,” Kara said reprovingly.

“No, Kara. You and Grayson asked me here in my capacity as your advisor. If you won’t speak up on your own behalf, I will.” 

“It’s none of your business,” Derek said hotly.

“None of my business?” Malcolm raised a thin brow. “My dear nephew, your _feelings_ for this creature threaten to undo years of delicate negotiations and cast an unending pall of shame upon this clan. I think that makes it my business.”

“Call Stiles a creature again,” Derek growled, “and I’ll rip your lungs out.”

“Derek, please.” Kara laid her hand on Derek’s arm, and he forced himself to lean back in his chair. She gave him a small smile in reward, then turned to her brother. “Malcolm, if Derek says he has developed feelings for this…Omega, then we need to take him at his word.”

“And our longstanding, lucrative contract with the Monroe Clan?” Malcolm countered. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Kara’s eyes glittered. “We will discuss that later,” she said icily. “Right now, I prefer to let my son have his say. Go on,” she told Derek.

He took a deep breath. “I understand that you think it’s wrong to feel this way about a human.”

“Not just human,” Malcolm muttered darkly into his glass. “One of _them_.”

“Malcolm!” Kara’s eyes flashed as her control threatened to slip. Sensing the danger, Malcolm slid lower in his chair and took a gulp of his bourbon. If Derek didn’t know better, he might have thought his uncle was drunk.

Derek took another breath. “I know you think it’s wrong,” he said again. “But Emissary Deaton said that it used to be common practice before the Truce for wolf packs to include humans.”

Grayson looked uncomfortable. “Those were…uncivilized times.”

“Dad,” Derek said gently. “You’re the one who agreed to let Stiles in the pack in the first place.”

Grayson rose abruptly and stalked across the room, turning his back to the group. Derek started to follow, but, at the warning glance his mother shot him, held back.

Finally, Grayson turned. “There were reasons for that decision.”

“And they were good reasons,” Derek said. 

Grayson snorted. “Deaton forced my hand. You think that’s a good reason?”

“Stiles is an asset to the pack,” Derek said. “He’s proved that time and again. More than that, he _is_ pack, in every sense of the word. That’s reason enough.”

Grayson shook his head. “Derek—”

Derek leaned forward. “Dad,” he said urgently. “Regardless of how the situation came to be, Stiles is one of us now. And pack comes first. Isn’t that what you always taught me?”

Grayson rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I admit, the situation is unusual,” he said finally. “And for an Alpha to develop feelings for a member of his pack…well, we’ve discussed this.” He opened his eyes. “But to fall in love? To mate? Son, it’s just not natural. It goes against everything your mother and I taught you.”

“But why?” Derek pleaded. “Because we’re different species? Why should that matter? Isn’t love more important than biology?”

“Derek.” Grayson sat, then scooted his chair closer. “What about Kate? What about her feelings? Don’t you care about them?”

Derek squirmed in his chair under his father’s gaze. “God, yes, of course I do. But I don’t love her. I mean, I thought I did, but I realize now I didn’t. I care about her, but not in the same way I care about Stiles.”

“Am I permitted to speak?” Malcolm piped up.

“No!” Derek snarled.

Grayson rubbed his eyes again, then gave a wave of his hand. “Speak.”

“Clearly, the creature has bewitched Derek. There’s no other explanation.”

“No.” Grayson shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall Derek’s angry response. “The specialist who examined Derek said there was no sign of magic upon him.”

“Derek,” Kara said gently. “I know you’re scared. Getting married is a big step, and it’s normal to be frightened. Why, before your father and I were wed--”

“No.” Derek shoved back his chair, stood, and paced the room. “I already had this discussion with Dad. This is not me getting cold paws before marrying Kate. This is me saying I don’t want to marry her _at all_.”

“I’m not sure you have a choice about that,” Grayson said sharply.

Derek turned, and his voice rose. “Seriously, Dad? You’re going to force me to marry someone against my will?”

“Of course not.” Kara glowered at Grayson until he looked away. “Now please sit down, Derek.” She patted Derek’s chair, and he reluctantly slumped in it.

“Laura broke off her engagement to Marcus,” he muttered sullenly. “You didn’t force them to get married.”

Grayson and Kara exchanged glances again.

“That was different,” she said.

“Why?” Derek demanded, not caring that he sounded like a petulant two-year-old.

“Laura is…mature,” Kara said. “You have to admit, darling, you’ve always been a little wild. And Kate has always been a stabilizing influence. Besides,” she added when Derek started to object, “that was a mutual decision. Neither Laura nor Marcus wanted to continue the contract, so it was dissolved. There was no third party involvement.”

“‘Third party involvement,’” Derek snorted. “Now you sound like a lawyer.”

Kara smiled fondly. “I must have learned it from my children.” 

Despite himself, Derek smiled back at her.

Kara gently took his hand. “You know your father and I love you very much. No, let me finish,” she added when Derek started to interrupt. 

She smiled again, and Derek obediently sat back in his chair.

“I know it’s difficult,” Kara said. “But the truth is, things are the way they are for a reason. Our traditions exist to safeguard our wellbeing.”

“I know that, Mom, and I love our traditions. I just want Stiles to be part of them, too.”

“I understand.” Kara patted Derek’s hand, and exchanged glances with Grayson. “And believe it or not, you’re not the only one who has these feelings.”

Derek blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I know we don’t talk about it much,” Kara said with a wince, “but there are wolves who experience some…residual attraction to humans. But help is available.”

Derek frowned. “Help?”

Grayson spoke up. “Clearly the stress of your new responsibilities has worn on you, Derek. We think you need to take a break. Get away from it all.

Kara nodded eagerly. “Some place quiet, where you can reflect. Some place where you can receive the care and counseling you need.”

Derek slowly pulled his hand from his mother’s grasp. “Counseling?”

“Yes, darling.” Kara beamed “Your therapist recommended a wonderful facility called Journeys in Malibu. It’s in a beautiful setting by the ocean. You know how much you’ve always loved the water, Derek.”

“Wait a minute.” Derek held up his hands, palms out. “This is an _intervention_?

His parents looked at him in silence. Kara bit her lip.

“Oh, my God!” Derek rose from his chair and paced again. “This is insane!”

“Derek,” Kara began. “Sweetheart. Please—”

“Holy shit!” Derek turned. “This is why you took my phone, my wallet. What’s next? My shoelaces?”

Grayson stood. “Son, I understand you’re upset.”

“Upset?” Derek gaped at him. “ _Upset_?”

“I understand,” Grayson said again, “that this seems like a violation of your—”

“Damn straight it’s a violation!” Derek yelled, feeling his fur stand on end in pure rage. He took a deep breath. “I’m not going to rehab. I categorically refuse.”

“Derek.” Now Kara stood. “Please just hear us out.”

“The hell with that,” Derek snapped. “I’m out of here.”

He walked to the double doors of the study and wrenched them open—then dropped to a crouch, growling, as his fangs and claws came out.

Two hulking figures dressed in dark suits loomed in the doorway – his father’s guards. 

One of them stepped forward, then looked at Grayson. “Sir?”

Grayson held up his hand. “We’re fine here, Beta, thank you.”

The guard stepped back with a nod. Furious, Derek slammed the doors shut in his face. 

“So I’m a fucking prisoner?” he raged.

“Derek, sit down,” Grayson ordered.

Instead, Derek stormed around the room. “You can’t hold me here against my will!”

Grayson’s voice sharpened. “I can if you are a danger to yourself and to this family.”

“Derek,” Kara said softly. “It’s already been arranged. You leave within the hour.”

Panic gripped Derek’s heart like a fist. His knees weakened, and he collapsed in his chair and put his head in his hands. “Mom, please,” he begged. “Please don’t do this.”

Kara sat next to him and gently stroked his hair. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to. But you give your father and me no choice.”

Derek raised his head and gripped both his mother’s hands, so hard she winced. “Mom, if you love me at all, you won’t do this.”

“It’s because we love you that we made this decision.”

“Does Laura know?” Derek demanded. “Does she know what you’re planning to do?”

“Yes,” Kara said quietly.

Derek felt his shoulders slump as despair settled over him.

Grayson sat and leaned forward. “Derek,” he said quietly. “You need to understand what’s at stake here. Kate has agreed to give you another chance, provided you go to treatment.”

“And let me guess,” Derek said bitterly. “If I refuse, she threatened to go to the press.”

Grayson and Kara exchanged another look.

“I knew it!” Derek pulled his hands from his mother’s. “This isn’t about me, or what I feel. It’s about making money off an alliance and avoiding a scandal. If word gets out that I dumped Kate for a human—”

“A witch,” Malcolm put in. “One of our sworn enemies.”

“A witch who is a member of my pack and this clan,” Derek snapped, “as has been established. Which puts him within the purview of my privilege. Furthermore,” he pointed his finger at Malcolm, “Stiles and I are formally engaged, as you yourself witnessed, along with Laura and half a dozen of this household.”

Derek took a deep breath, feeling calm, finally, settle over him. “Kate can threaten all she wants,” he said more quietly. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve given my troth to Stiles. He’s the one wearing my collar, not her. It’s legally binding and you know it.”

Grayson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Our attorneys are looking into that.”

“They can look all they want,” Derek replied sharply. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m formally pledged to Stiles. I couldn’t get engaged to Kate now if I wanted to. So go ahead and put me in treatment. Hell, put me in jail. It won’t matter. The law is the law.”

“You see?” Malcolm turned to Grayson. “What further proof do you need that he’s unstable?”

“Unstable?” Derek laughed. ‘I’ve never been more stable. Mom, look at me.” He turned to his mother again. “I swear I have never been happier. I love my pack. I love my life in Beacon Hills. LA doesn’t suit me. It never has. You know that. Mom, please, don’t you want me to be happy?”

“We don’t always get to put our own happiness first,” Kara said softly. Instead of her usual placid expression, her faced showed profound grief.

But Derek was on a roll. “Look at our history,” he argued. “Humans and weres used to mate. Witches, too. There’s nothing biologically wrong with it. It was just forbidden after the Truce because the emissaries wanted to create distance between the three groups to prevent bloodshed.” 

“Our people have prospered since the Truce,” Grayson put in. “As never before.”

“But we’ve lost something, too,” Derek insisted. 

Grayson raised a forbidding eyebrow. “Which is?”

“Our connection with…something.” Derek flailed his hands as he struggled for words. “Call it nature, call it our own instincts. We’re stronger when we’re connected. All this…” He waved his hand at the opulence surrounding him. “Living in the city, living so far from the forest. It weakens us.”

Malcolm laughed loudly, breaking Derek’s concentration. “So said the late Peter Hale.”

Derek blushed. “Peter wasn’t wrong about everything,” he muttered.

“Wasn’t he?” Malcolm mocked. “You’re too young to remember how Peter almost destroyed us all. And if you think I’m going to sit idly by and watch the same madness engulf this family—"

“Malcolm!” Kara said sharply. “Enough!”

“No!” A vein throbbed visibly in Malcolm’s temple, and his face was distorted with hatred in way Derek had never seen before. “Am I the only one who sees the danger?”

“Malcolm.” Grayson said sternly. “We shall not speak of this.”

“The Alpha must be obeyed,” Malcolm sneered. He drained his drink in one gulp, then stood, swaying a little. He moved to the sidebar and refilled his glass, the clink of ice cubes loud in the room. “But blood will out, mark my words.”

“Malcolm!” Kara hissed. To Derek’s surprise, her face was pale, and she gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white.

Ignoring his sister’s obvious distress, Malcolm poured another drink from the decanter. “It was a bad idea from the beginning,” he crooned. “I said so at the time.”

“Malcolm,” Kara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

Malcolm gulped down his drink. “You tried to rehabilitate him,” he continued in the same sing-song voice. “But it clearly hasn’t worked.” 

He gestured with his glass, the dark liquid slopping over the side. “He should have been put down the moment he was welped. Better yet he never should have been born.”

Grayson stood, and his eyes flashed red. “Silence!” he roared, the window rattling at the sound.

“Dad.” Derek looked between his parents. “Mom. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Tell him, Kara,” Malcolm whispered. “He deserves to know.”

“I said be silent!” Grayson strode toward Malcolm and grasped him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The glass fell to the floor and shattered.

“Tell him, Kara,” Malcolm gurgled.

With a small cry, Kara leapt from the chair and retreated across the room.

Derek stared at her. “Mom?”

Kara turned at bay, pressing both hands over her lips.

Derek suddenly remembered her strange behaviour upstairs.

_“No matter what happens,” Kara said fiercely, “I need you to know that I love you.” Her grip tightened. “Do you understand that?”_

_“Of course,” Derek stammered, unnerved by his mother’s intensity._

_Kara pulled Derek’s head toward her and kissed his forehead. ‘’You are my son, Derek,” she whispered against his brow, “and I will always I love you. Always. From the moment you were born, I knew…”_

_She broke off abruptly, biting her lip._

Derek stood, keeping a hand on his chair for balance.

“Mom,” he said weakly, his voice sounding tinny and far away even to his own ears. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Derek.” Derek hadn’t heard his father approach, and jumped when he felt the hand on his shoulder.

Derek looked up at him. “Dad? What’s going on?”

Grayson flinched, then visibly steadied himself. “I’m not your father, Derek,” he said gently. “I wish I was, but I’m not.”

Derek stared at him. “Then who…?”

He broke off suddenly and looked at his mother. Her eyes overflowed with tears that ran down her fingers.

Like Kara, Derek covered his mouth with both hands in horror, then sank back in his chair as the truth hit home. 

_Peter_.

***

“Mom,” Derek whispered hoarsely. “Peter?”

Kara whimpered.

“Oh, my God.” Derek’s stomach roiled, and he was thankful he hadn’t eaten anything, otherwise he would have fallen to the floor and retched. 

He looked helplessly at Grayson. “Is that why Peter was exiled?” he asked.

Grayson’s shoulders slumped with weariness. He rubbed his eyes. “It’s…complicated,” he said finally.

“Complicated?” Rage grew in Derek, choking him. He stood. “How could you let Peter live?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you kill him after he—” 

He broke off, unable to say the word.

“Derek,” Kara whispered. 

“He attacked her!” Derek yelled at Grayson. “Why didn’t you kill the son of a bitch?” 

“Derek,” Kara said again.

“God, how could you even let him near her? Why didn’t you protect her from him in the first place?” 

“Derek!” Kara snapped. “Be quiet!”

Derek fell silent in shock, staring at his mother. 

Kara took a deep breath. “I can explain—”

“No.” Grayson turned to his wife, and his face and voice softened. “Kara, my love,” he said. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. Not then, not now.”

“Yes, I do.” Kara’s eyes grew steely. She straightened her shoulders and folded her hands at her waist. “Derek, Peter didn’t attack me.”

Derek blinked in confusion. “Of course he did. That’s what Peter does. He’s sick, he’s evil.” He thought of Isaac and Stiles. A fresh wave of nausea swam over him when he thought of his own relationship with Stiles. 

_Like father, like son._

Derek wanted to scream with shame and horror.

“Derek,” Kara said again, interrupting his swirling thoughts. “Peter did not attack me.”

Derek gaped at his mother, then shook his head stubbornly. “No, Mom, you’re confused. Peter got in your head, he convinced you it wasn’t…that he didn’t …” 

His voice trailed off as Kara remained silent.

“Mom, please,” Derek whispered. Tears sprang in his eyes.

Grayson stepped forward and put a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulder. “I’m sorry we deceived you, Derek,” he said quietly. “But now you understand why your mother and I have been so worried about you.”

“Because you think I take after my father,” Derek said, his mouth twisting at the words. “My real father.”

“Yes.”

Derek sat and ran both hands through his hair. “This is insane,” he said, then laughed at the irony of his words. “How did you manage to keep this secret from everyone?”

“You have Hale blood,” Grayson said flatly. “It was enough.”

“So my scent was enough like yours that no one questioned it?”

“Precisely.”

Derek ran his hands through his hair again. “What about Laura?”

“She’s ours,” Grayson said, then flinched. “I mean, I am Laura’s father.”

“And this is why I never fit in,” Derek said numbly. “Why I struggled so much for control, because I take after Peter. God, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“It was better this way,” Kara said.

Derek gave a bark of laughter. “Better for whom?”

“What’s done is done,” Grayson said sharply. “It was a long time ago. And I won’t hear a word of criticism of my wife.”

“Your wife?” Derek gaped at him. “Your wife cheated on you with your own brother. How could you be okay with that?”

Grayson’s face closed. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

Derek looked at Kara. “Mom, please help me understand.”

Kara blushed with shame, and tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Derek. I can’t.”

Grayson stepped forward. “Derek, that’s enough. The subject is closed.”

“I have a right to know!” Derek snapped. 

Grayson’s temper broke. “You have no right to question your mother’s honor!”

“Honor?” Derek spat back. He strode forward until he was chest to chest with the Alpha. “You don’t know the meaning of the word! None of you do!” 

Grayson’s fangs emerged. “You’d better watch what you say to me, boy,” he growled.

“Derek,” Kara scolded. “Grayson. Stop this.” 

“We’re not supposed to be able to lie to each other, but you’ve lied to me my whole life!” Derek snarled. “Faithless, the both of you!”

“Don’t you dare speak about her that way!” Grayson bellowed.

“Lack-faith!" Derek taunted. "Liar! Coward!”

“Stop it!” Kara tried to move between the two men, but too late. With a roar of fury, Grayson picked up Derek and threw him through the double doors. The wood splintered, the guards ducked, and Derek’s leg shattered on impact as he hit the wall beyond.

 _Oh crap_ , he thought as darkness descended. _Not again_.


	44. Chapter 44

It was full dark when Derek woke up. He didn’t know the time or the day, nor did he particularly care. His leg fell stiff and sore, even though he could tell the healing process was running its course. Alpha wounds always took longer to mend.

Honestly, Derek reflected, he was surprised he was still breathing, given the fact that he had come dangerously close to goading his father into ritual combat.

No, he recalled suddenly, not his father.

His uncle.

Peter was his father.

As the memories returned, Derek felt his stomach lurch. He staggered out of bed to the bathroom and heaved what felt like his entire stomach lining into the toilet.

Afterwards, he brushed his teeth, moodily staring at his reflection in the mirror.

How many times had he looked at this selfsame image, he wondered, never questioning his place in the household, never suspecting his true parentage?

But why should he have suspected? He’d always favored the Hales rather than his mother’s family. With his dark hair and thick brows, he was the very image of Grayson, as well as his grandfather Nathaniel.

Of course, he mused bitterly, he’d never shown a shred of Grayson’s discipline, or his mother’s icy control. Laura was the perfect combination of both, while Derek was a…

“Mongrel,” he whispered at his reflection.

A knock on the bedroom door startled him, so much that his claws emerged.

“Go away!” he bellowed.

The knock came again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Derek stalked through the bedroom and practically ripped the door off its hinges. “Mom, I don’t care what you say, I’m not—"

It wasn’t his mother. It was the limo driver, his father’s errand boy. This was the first time Derek had seen him without his sunglasses, and the man’s eyes were startlingly pale in his dark face.

“Alpha.” The driver gave a respectful nod, then looked Derek up and down with a critical eye. “When you are…presentable, your car awaits.”

Derek bared his teeth. “I’m not going to rehab.”

The driver looked thoroughly unruffled. “Indeed. Those are no longer my orders.”

“Then where—” Derek hissed in frustration as the driver simply turned and walked away.

Derek took his sweet time getting ready, purely out of spite. As he walked downstairs, he was surprised not to see any family members, guards, or household staff. Indeed, the house seemed virtually deserted, and most of the lights were off.

The thought of escape occurred to him, but what was the point? Returning to Beacon Hills wasn’t an option—it only would draw his father’s guards after him, and this time they might not hesitate to harm Derek’s pack.

Derek wondered if Grayson was sending him into exile, like he had done Peter, or even making him Rogue, but he found he didn’t much care. Again, he could never return to Beacon Hills. The pack, especially Stiles, would be repulsed when they found out Peter was Derek’s father. And find out he would, since Derek was physically incapable of lying to him. Knowing that Derek was the son of his tormentor…

Derek shook his head. Maybe his feelings for Stiles weren’t even real, he mused bitterly. Maybe his interest wasn’t love at all, but the same kind of sick obsession Peter had. All the more reason to stay the hell away from Stiles, even if the very thought made him want to curl up and die.

Malcolm was right, Derek thought. He should have been put down at birth.

Still, he hesitated when the driver held the door of the limo open.

“Where are you taking me?” he demanded.

“I’m not allowed to tell you.” The driver paused. “But I swear on my honor that no harm will come to you.”

Derek looked at him in surprise, but the man’s eyes didn’t flicker, nor did his heart rate or breathing change. 

“Fine,” Derek said eventually. “But I’m not riding in the back.” He opened the door to the front passenger seat and climbed in.

The driver blinked, but his face showed no emotion. “As you wish, Alpha,” he said, then closed the door.

To Derek’s surprise, the car headed for the fashionable district. Traffic was busy, and patrons spilled out of expensive restaurant, nightclubs, and shops, laughing and talking and occasionally fighting. Derek saw a bruiser of a bouncer haul apart two struggling Betas like they were puppies. It reminded him of Boyd breaking up a scuffle between Jackson and Scott. The thought of his pack made Derek’s chest ache unbearably, so he turned away from the window.

“What day is it?”

“Friday, sir. Almost midnight,” the driver added before Derek could ask the time.

Derek frowned through the smoked glass windows. Three months ago he would have among the crowds, dressed in a fashionable suit with Kate on his arm and—he could now admit—hating every second of it.

The thought brought him up short. Maybe this was another one of Kate’s ploys. “You’re not taking me to see Miss Monroe, are you?”

“No, Alpha.”

“Stop calling me that,” Derek said, relieved but irritable. “I’m no one’s Alpha. Call me Derek.”

“As you wish.”

“As you wish _what_?” Derek snarled.

“As you wish…Derek.”

Satisfied, Derek looked out the window again, then turned back.

“What’s your name?”

A flash of shock slid across the man’s face, then vanished. “Thomas.”

“Thomas.” Derek leaned back in his seat, moodily kicking at the dash. “How long have you worked for my father, Thomas?”

“All my life, Al—” The driver winced. “Sorry.”

Derek stared up through the moonroof of the limo. The moon and stars, so beautifully visible in Beacon Hills, were obscured by the light pollution of the city. “This system of ours is pretty fucked up, don’t you think, Thomas?”

Thomas executed a smooth turn through a busy intersection. “What system would that be, sir?”

“Alphas, Betas, Omegas.” Derek said. “All this hierarchy bullshit.”

Thomas hesitated. “Permission to speak freely, Al…I mean, Derek?”

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Derek said heatedly. “You shouldn’t need my permission to speak your mind. Fine,” he added when Thomas continued to regard him with silent patience. “Permission granted.” Derek gave an elaborate wave of his hand.

Thomas turned the wheel again, steering the car into quieter district “Power comes with a price,” he said finally. “So does privilege. And it’s a price I’d not want to pay. Here we are, sir,” he added as the limo glided to a stop.

Derek blinked in surprise. The car sat outside what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse on a darkened street. There were no cars here, no neon signs, not even a streetlight. The block was pitch black and deserted.

Derek jumped a little when Thomas opened the door. The man stared down at Derek, his expression unruffled and his eyes unreadable again. “Please follow me.”

“Why?”

Thomas’ expression softened a little. “I promised no harm would come to you, Derek, and I’m a wolf of my word.”

Derek took a deep breath. “Very well.”

He stepped out of the limo, every instinct on high alert. He didn’t sense danger—indeed, his senses could barely pick up anything aside from the cool night air and a deep thudding beat Derek could only assume was his racing heart.

Half-shifted just in case, he followed Thomas toward the warehouse. The driver stopped outside a large metal door and pressed a buzzer next to it. Instantly, a tiny red light blinked on. Thomas leaned closer, allowing the beam of light to scan his eyes.

There was a click and the door slid open, revealing a dark, narrow hallway. Instantly, the muffled beat grew louder. 

Derek turned to Thomas. “Seriously? It’s a fucking club?”

Thomas’ fangs gleamed in the darkness as he grinned and gestured for Derek to precede him. “After you, Alpha.”

Torn between relief, anger, and embarrassment, Derek strode forward into the darkness, navigating through several sharp turns while irritably slapping aside the panels of heavy plastic sheeting that hung from the ceiling. The deep bass beat of the music grew even louder, and colored lights began to flash against the walls. Derek’s nose itched from the stench of cigarette smoke mingled with the tang of wolfsbane-infused alcohol.

Finally, Derek came to the last turn and entered the club. 

It was a large room square room with a sunken center that served as a dance floor. The heavy concrete and steel walls betrayed the building’s industrial origins, while the ceiling was at least two storeys tall, crossed by heavy beams strung with lights. 

A mezzanine level, reached by a metal staircase, ran around three sides of the room. The fourth wall was given over to an open booth with an elaborate DJ setup. The DJ was half-shifted, bare-chested, and heavily tattooed and dreadlocked. He danced along to the relentless beat, grinning through his fangs while he worked the raucous crowd on the dance floor. Several metal cages were suspended by chains from the ceiling, just out of reach of the dancers.

As Derek watched, the beat changed, becoming quicker and even more frantic. The DJ pressed a button and fog poured into the room. The dancers cheered. The lights darkened, and the cages, illuminated by spotlights, began lowering toward the crowd. Inside, scantily clad dancers gyrated to the music, their oiled skin gleaming in the flickering lights. The crowd howled, hungrily reaching clawed hands toward the dancers, who smiled and pouted at their advances, egging them on. The scent of sex washed across the room and—

“Oh, shit,” Derek said, as realization hit. 

The club patrons were werewolves.

The dancers, all of them, were human.

***

Derek turned and found Thomas blocking his way. Derek tried to duck around him, but the driver countered his move.

Derek raised his voice to be heard above the noise. “Let me out of here!” 

Thomas shook his head, a hint of regret on his handsome features. “I have my orders, sir.” He indicated the mezzanine level. Derek turned and saw a slim figure watching them, visible only by the yellow gleam of eyes.

Derek glanced around the room, seeing more figures lurking in the shadows, well-dressed but obviously not patrons. Their eyes gleamed as well, as did those of the bartender busily mixing drinks, who glanced at Derek and then quickly looked away.

“After you,” Thomas said in Derek’s ear.

Defeated, Derek trudged up the stairs to the mezzanine. The figure stepped out of the shadows and turned out to be a handsome, middle-aged Beta female with Japanese features, impeccably dressed in a black leather pencil skirt, crisp white blouse, and high heels.

Before Derek could protest, the woman turned and walked away. The mezzanine was less crowded than the lower level, but still busy. There were fainting couches and small tables set around the railing, where well-dressed patrons sat sipping cocktails and gazing down on the dance floor. There was at least one human in every party. On one couch, a curvy naked redhead bearing the tattoo of a minor wolf clan sprawled, laughing, on the lap of a tall Alpha female with spiky black hair. 

The girl arched backward, resting her head on the older woman’s shoulder as the Alpha poured her ruby-red cocktail into the human’s mouth while nibbling greedily at her neck. Drops of the red liquid spilled from the glass and ran like blood down the girl’s pale breasts, chased by the alpha’s hand.

The Alpha’s fangs emerged as her hand slid lower, caressing the damp reddish curls at the woman’s pubic area. Her fingers probed deep, and the human flung back her head and arched further, pressing into the Alpha’s hand. Real blood welled up as the Alpha’s fangs pricked the human’s skin, and the musky scent of pheromones filled the air. 

Derek felt a stab of lust and quickly turned his head away, only to find himself looking into a curtained alcove. Inside, a human woman with dark hair and eyes held a fully shifted wolf on her lap, her hand gently caressing its fur. She met Derek’s gaze, her face expressionless.

Derek ducked his head again and hurried on. The hostess approached an elevator door set in the wall, pulled a keycard from her pocked, and swiped it across the sensor. The door slid open. The woman paused, looking back at Thomas.

“This is as far as I go,” Thomas told Derek. “I’m not allowed to enter,” he added at Derek’s questioning look. “I’ll have the car waiting when you’re finished.”

Before Derek could speak, Thomas walked away. The woman waited expectantly.

Growling, Derek followed her into the elevator and the door closed behind him. 

“Whatever you expect me to do, I won’t do it,” Derek told her.

The woman smiled gently, like an Ommie indulging the antics of her young charge. The elevator doors slid open and the woman walked out, Derek trailing helplessly in her wake. 

At least this level of the club was blessedly dark and quiet, with no flashing lights or howling crowds. The pounding beat of the music was only a muffled thump, and the air was clean and cool. 

A smoked glass wall ran around three sides of the area, looking down on the lower levels. Opposite the glass were a series of luxurious suites. Waiters carrying trays of drinks discreetly moved along the corridors, their footsteps muffled in the thick carpeting.

Most of the doors were closed, but Derek glanced into one as a patron swiped a key card and entered, ducking his head to avoid Derek’s eyes. Inside was an enormous bed, draped in red like a bridal chamber. A collared young man, chained to the bed, knelt submissively on the floor, disappearing from view as the client closed the door behind him. 

Finally, the woman reached the far side of the floor, which turned out to be an office area with a broad glass desk and a wall of video screens showing video footage from various angles of the club. She turned and bowed her head. “Alpha Hale,” she said. “It’s an honor.”

“I’m not doing this,” Derek said.

“Please take a seat,” the Beta said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “May I offer you a drink?” She indicated a decanter of dark red liquid.

“It’s wasted on me, but go ahead.” Derek slumped in the chair and accepted the glass the woman poured. He blinked in surprise at the taste, recognizing the rare vintage.

The woman smiled indulgently again. “Our guests have sophisticated tastes,” she said. Then she briskly sat at her desk, placed a pair of black-framed glasses, and opened a laptop.

“Congratulations, Alpha. Your family has gifted you with an ongoing membership to our club.”

Derek laughed sardonically. “What, like a running tab?”

The Beta looked at him sternly over the rims of her glasses. “I wouldn’t call it that, but yes, that is the basic idea. All expenses have been covered indefinitely. Your only task is to make your wishes known.”

Derek drained his drink, then set his empty glass down on the table with a clink. “I’m not interested.”

The woman gave a reassuring smile. “I don’t think you understand. We don’t judge anyone here. Your desires and preferences are your own business. We are merely here to satisfy them. I understand your concerns,” she added as Derek continued to stare at her, “but I can assure you we are known for our complete discretion and loyalty to our clients.”

“Now,” she turned back to her computer. “I’ve taken the liberty of pre-selecting some candidates for you, based on the information your family provided.” 

She tapped a laptop key and nodded toward the video wall. Images began to flicker across the screens, video footage of a dozen different humans posing in provocative positions of sexual submission.

Every single one was a teenage boy.

Every single one looked like Stiles.

Dark hair, pale skin, lanky frame, brown eyes. Some were naked, some clothed. All of them were collared. 

The camera zoomed in on one, lingering on the boy’s freckled face and wide, laughing mouth. With a grin, the boy peeled off his Captain American T-shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding his hand inside and stroking his length. He lowered his eyes submissively, then peered up at the camera lens through dark eyelashes, longing and mischief mingled in his eyes. Then he bit his lip and threw back his head against the pillows, baring his neck.

Through his horror, Derek was vaguely aware that the hostess was speaking again.

“It may take a while to identify your favorites, but once you do, you’ll have exclusive rights. No other clients will be allowed to enjoy them. You may visit the club at any time, 24/7, or even arrange long-term housing in one of our private condos if you prefer. Marking is permitted, and while we generally have a strict no-breeding policy, it’s waived for our exclusive members. Of course,” the woman chucked, “with your type, that won’t be a problem, unless the old tales are true.”

Derek started to cry.

He could feel hot, wet tears running down his face, scalding his skin. Felt his breath hitch helplessly as the sobs rose from deep within his chest. Felt his entire body shaking with mingled rage and the most profound sorrow he had ever experienced.

But he couldn’t speak.

Images of Stiles came to his mind: Swaggering into Hale House in a burst of sunlight. Tripping over his own feet on the lacrosse field. Sitting cross-legged in his tiny room, surrounded by walls of books, scribbling in his notebook while he pored over a heavy volume of lore on his lap. 

Darker images, too: Stiles, drunk with grief and alcohol, crouching in the burnt-out ruins of his family’s home. Beating on Jackson in an uncontrollable fit of rage, windows exploding outward from the force of his power. His first kiss with Derek, with Stiles’ blood still fresh on his skin from Alec's attack.

Stiles asleep in Derek’s arms.

Derek tried again to speak, but couldn’t. How could he find the words for love in this horrible, graceless place? How could he explain that Stiles wasn’t a _type_? He wasn’t a _preference_ or a _kink_ or an _issue_ or a _phase_.

He was real.

He was real, and Derek loved him for _who_ he was, not _what_ he was. Age didn’t matter, gender didn’t matter, species didn’t matter, only Stiles.

With a start, Derek realized he was gripping the glass tabletop, gripping it so hard that it shook, the decanter and glasses dancing on the surface with a clinking sound. He looked up at the Beta with eyes he knew were a bright, burning red.

The woman stared back at him, the whites of her eyes showing in terror.

Derek forced himself to let go of the desk and sit back in his chair. His fingers were stiff and aching, and he flexed them carefully, waiting until his eyes returned to normal before looking at the Beta again.

She blinked slowly and lowered her gaze. 

“Ah,” she said finally. “I see.” She closed her laptop with gentle fingers, then cleared her throat delicately. “Alpha Hale, I don’t believe we will be able to meet your needs after all.”

“No.” Derek’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t think you will.”

The Beta hesitated, and Derek spoke again. “Please be assured there will be no consequences for this failure, no retaliation from my family. You have my word on it.”

A look of relief crossed the woman’s face, replaced instantly by her usual placid expression. “Thank you, Alpha.” 

She rose and smoothed her skirt, then tucked her laptop under her arm. “I’ll arrange to have your car brought ‘round.” She left the office, only wobbling a little on her high heels.

One by one, the images disappeared from the video wall, replaced by dark blank screens.

But in the far corner, near the top, a tiny red light glowed.

Derek glared at it. “You get the message?” he asked. 

The light winked out.

Derek sat alone in the darkness, the thud of the music in the club keeping time with the beat of his heart.

***

Eventually, he rose and made his way back downstairs. Several dark-suited guards appeared at his elbow, silently flanking him, and the crowd melted away at their approach. No one looked Derek in the eye. He was escorted out a back door, clearly not used by the general patrons, into a narrow alley.

The door closed behind Derek, and the noise and smell of the club disappeared completely. When Derek looked back, he realized the door was so cleverly camouflaged that it was virtually invisible to the naked eye.

He walked out of the alley and found the limo waiting at the curb, windows up and engine purring. A second car was parked behind it—a vintage Jaguar.

Thomas stepped out of the driver’s side of the limo and opened the back door, his face averted in a respectful bow. 

“Alpha,” he said.

Derek climbed in the limo and Thomas closed the door behind him.

Derek realized with a start that there was a second person sitting in the back seat.

It was his mother. She held a tablet computer in her hands, the screen slowing fading to black.

“I am so sorry, Derek,” she said. “I didn’t understand—“ Her voice cracked.

“Didn’t understand what?” Derek whispered hoarsely.

Kara looked at him, and her blue eyes were wet with tears. “I didn’t understand that you were truly in love. I thought it was just—“ She broke off, pressing her fingers to her lips.

“Mom,” Derek said helplessly. “I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

Kara smiled through her tears. “Of course you didn’t, Derek. You would never deliberately hurt anyone. I should have known—“ 

Kara broke off again, shaking her head. She opened her clutch purse, pulled out an embroidered linen handkerchief and carefully dabbed the tears from her cheeks, then took out a compact and checked her makeup in the mirror. 

Satisfied, she leaned forward and briskly rapped her knuckles on the glass divider between the driver’s seat and the passenger area.

“Tell Thomas to drive you to the airport,” she told Derek as she replaced the items in her clutch and closed it. “I’ll arrange to have the plane ready.”

Derek stared at her “Seriously?”

Kara raised her hand to caress Derek’s cheek, but lowered it quickly when he flinched away.

“Go back to Beacon Hills and your mate, darling,” she said. A hint of steel crept into her gaze. “I’ll handle your father.”

She turned away as the door opened and Thomas extended his hand. She took it and exited the limo gracefully. 

“Thank you, Thomas.”

The door closed behind her, and Derek sat in shock for a moment. He heard the purr of the Jaguar as it started up and pulled away. The limo rocked slightly as Thomas entered. After a moment, the glass partition slid back.

“Thomas?” Derek said faintly.

The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Yes, Derek?”

“Take me home.”


	45. Chapter 45

Derek stood at the end of the tarmac. Nearby were the control tower and cramped concrete bunker that served as the tiny regional airport. The single night shift employee, having woken up long enough to guide the Hale plane through landing and takeoff, had returned to the office. There, he re-commenced snoozing with his feet propped on the desk, bathed in the blue glow of the television screen.

Outside, the night sky arched overhead, and even through the lights of the airstrip, Derek could see fields of stars. The air felt cool and damp from the recent rain, and fog curled around the tarmac, casting the beacons in a golden haze and blurring the straight edges of the runway. Behind him, he heard the purr of the engine as the Hale airplane lifted into the darkness, until the sound faded away and silence returned, broken only by the comforting hum of insects. 

All in all, it was a beautiful autumn night in Northern California.

But all Derek could feel was the rage burning in his heart. He’d stoked the flames the entire flight from Los Angeles, impatiently gnawing on his thumbnail while seething with hurt and betrayal.

“Derek,” Laura said again. “Just get in the car.”

Derek folded his arms stubbornly. “Not until we have this out.” 

“Fine.” Laura stepped toward him. Derek could see lines of weariness around her eyes, but steeled himself against a sudden stab of pity.

“You lied to me,” he growled. “You knew Mom and Dad were planning to send me to away.”

Laura lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “I didn’t understand. I thought you were—"

“Sick?” Derek accused. “Disordered? _Unnatural_?”

“I thought you were confused,” Laura said quietly. “Maybe in over your head, a little. I thought you just needed some time to sort things out.”

“And the brothel?” Derek asked, tasting the acid on his tongue. “Was that your idea, or Mom’s? Which one of you got to ‘pre-select’ the whores for me?”

Laura blushed. “Derek—"

“You know what? Forget all that.” Derek stepped closer. “Just tell me the truth. Did you know Peter is my father?”

Laura paled. 

“Jesus Christ.” Derek turned and walked away.

“Derek, wait!”

“I can’t believe this.” Derek headed blindly toward the corrugated-tin hangar on the far side of the tarmac.

“Derek, please!,” Laura hissed. “Can we talk about this in the car?”

“Why?” Derek turned, opening his arms to the sky. “Everybody in the whole damn world knows about it! Hello, Minxy Brown!” he bellowed into the night. “Derek Hale is a bastard!”

“Honestly, Derek—”

“Alert _Wolf-tainment Tonight_! Cut and print – it’s a wrap!”

“Derek!”

Derek whirled on Laura. “Do you have any idea what this is like? To find out that I’m some…that _he_ …” Derek felt tears start in his eyes, and took refuge in anger again. “And everyone knew. The only person who didn’t know was me.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. 

“Derek.” Laura caught his wrist. Her fingers were cold. “You don’t understand.”

“Damn straight I don’t understand—"

“Derek!” Laura’s grip tightened and she shook his wrist in frustration. “You don’t understand!” She lowered her voice as tears filled her eyes. “Everyone was so happy when you were born.”

“Yeah, right,” Derek scoffed.

“It’s true. I still remember how it felt when they told me you were my baby brother, when they let me hold you for the first time.” Laura smiled fondly. “You were so cute with your bushy little brows and tiny teeth”

Derek stared at her. “I thought you three were the perfect family until I came along and ruined everything.”

“No.” Laura shook her head, impatiently brushing tears from her cheeks. “We weren’t perfect. But when you were born, Mom and Dad started laughing together again. Everyone was so happy,” she insisted when Derek started to object. “No one cared about the other thing.”

“No one cared that Mom had an affair with creepy Uncle Pete?”

“It wasn’t an affair,” Laura said primly. “It was a fling.” 

“Either way, how is that possible, Laura?”

“I don’t know!” Laura threw up her hands. “Maybe it forced Mom and Dad work on their marriage. Maybe he realized that he needed to spend more time at home, and she realized she still loved him. I don’t know,” she said more quietly, placing her palm on her heart. “I just remember how it felt.” Her voice grew stern. “And don’t you dare say anything bad about yourself. You may be Peter’s biological son, but you are nothing like him, okay? Nothing.”

“Tell that to Uncle Malcolm,” Derek muttered.

“I have told that to Uncle Malcom,” Laura said acerbically. “Several times, including tonight.” 

Derek could feel the tight fist in his chest starting to uncoil. “It just hurts so much. Not only that I came from him, but that that everyone lied to me. Especially you, Laura. I thought I could trust you above everyone.”

“I know and I’m sorry. “ Laura gently rested her hand on his cheek. “And I’m sorry we all did such a shit job of handling this…thing with Stiles.”

“This _thing_?” Derek’s rage reared its head again. “Is that all it is, a thing?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Do you think it’s just a fling, like Mom had with Peter? That I’ll just get over it?”

“For crying out loud, Derek!” Laura put her hands on her hips. “I saw you put your collar on that boy’s neck with my own eyes. I know you, okay?” she continued in a gentler tone. “I know you would never have done that, would never would have broken things off with Kate, would never have upset Mom and Dad…” She paused and took a deep breath. “Unless you were truly in love.”

Derek blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, you idiot. So call it an whatever you want; it’s real.”

Derek grinned, feeling somewhat mollified. “Now that you mention it, I kinda like thing.”

Laura rolled her eyes again, this time with affection. “Fine. Now will you please let me take you home to your pack?” 

Derek felt anxiety take the place of anger. “How are they?”

“They miss you and, frankly, they’re driving me crazy,” Laura said. “I don’t know how you stand being around teenagers all day.”

Derek smiled smugly. “It just takes practice.” He slung his arm around Laura as they walked toward the car. 

“Ugh! How do you stand the bickering?” Laura complained. “Lydia and Erika practically ripped each other’s hair out this week over a pair of shoes. And the boys are oozing piles of testosterone. They’re either eating everything in the fridge or beating each other senseless with lacrosse sticks, and the house reeks of hormones 24/7.”

Derek laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

Laura shuddered. “Never. Give me my law firm any day.” As they reached her car, she sobered and cupped Derek’s face in her hands. “Derek William Hale, you are my baby brother and I love you. I know it will take a while to regain your trust, but are we cool for now?”

Derek sighed. “We’re cool. Gimme the keys, I'm driving.” he aimed a grab at the car keys in Laura’s hand.

She evaded him easily. “Nice try. Now get in the car, brat.”

***

The fog grew as they drove, becoming even thicker as they neared Beacon Hills. It forced Laura to drive more slowly, until Derek was growling in impatience in the passenger seat. He pulled out his cell phone—Thomas had returned it and Derek’s wallet when they arrived at the airport—but the battery was dead, the face blank.

Laura’s cell chirped in the pocket of her purse, but to his surprise, she made no attempt to answer.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?”

Laura shook her head. “No talking or texting in the car. It’s the law.”

“Since when do you care?” Derek demanded. “You’re an Angeleno – you were born with a cell phone in your hand.”

Laura blushed. “Stiles’ rules.” 

Derek laughed. “Let me guess. He made you take the pledge.”

“And gave me the T-shirt.” Laura turned the wheel as the car began the long ascent up the hill to Hale House.

“So…” Derek turned and stared out the window. “You like him? Stiles?”

Laura shrugged. “He grows on you. Dammit,” she muttered as she navigated around a downed branch in the road. “Another one.”

Derek frowned. “Has it been storming?”

“Only every night. And now this crap.” Laura switched on the brights, but even their beams failed to penetrate the dense fog. 

The phone rang again. This time, Laura pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “Dammit,” she muttered again, then slipped it back in her purse.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked. 

Laura shook her head.

“Laura,” Derek warned. “You said I could trust you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Liar,” Derek said. He leaned closer, sniffing. 

Laura jerked away. “Stop that.”

“You’re anxious.”

“Of course I’m anxious! I hate driving in this weather.”

“It’s more than that.” Derek sniffed again. “What happened? What’s wrong? Is it the pack?” 

“Can it wait until we get home? We’re almost there.”

Derek’s panic grew. “No, it can’t wait.” Before Laura could stop him, he snatched the phone from her purse.

“Dammit, Derek!” The car lurched across the road as Laura made a grab for the phone. “Give that back!”

“Eyes on the road,” Derek said absently as he scrolled through the menu. “No texting while driving.” He pulled up the phone log. “Why is Lydia calling?”

“Derek…”

“She called twice but there’s no voicemail.” Derek opened the text log. “She sent a text. ‘Jackson says not at school. No word yet from others.’ What others?” he demanded. “What’s going on?”

Laura sighed. “This is why I wanted to wait until we got home to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Derek’s voice rose. ”What’s going on with my pack?”

“It’s probably nothing. You know how teenagers get.”

“God-dammit, Laura,” Derek began heatedly. “I have a right to know—"

The phone chirped again. It was another text from Lydia. 

“’B & E say not at hosp,’” Derek read aloud. “’Sct & Is chkg house.’ What house? Who’s not at the hospital…” His voice trailed off as the truth sunk it. “Stiles.”

Laura grimaced, then spoke in her sternest big-sister voice. “Okay, Derek, first of all, don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking!” Derek snapped. “I just want to know what’s going on with my mate, for Christ’s sake! Where is he?”

Laura took a deep breath. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?” Derek’s voice rose an octave, and he felt a sudden desperate urge to escape the confinement of the car. “Pull over,” he ordered.

“Derek, we’re almost there—"

“I said pull the car over right fucking now!” Derek bellowed.

“Okay, okay. Jesus.” Laura carefully guided the car to the side of the road and turned it off. Derek scrambled out of the passenger seat and stared around him at the forest. The gigantic trees loomed overhead, seeming even more enormous and mysterious in the fog-shrouded darkness. Derek sniffed the air, but all he smelled was wet wood and a faint acrid scent. He extended his senses until he felt the presence of his pack members, scattered for miles across the mountain. He reached further and felt Stiles, his heartbeat faint and distant, but there. Derek leaned against the car, dizzy with relief.

“He’s alive,” he said.

“Of course he’s alive!” Laura snapped. “Now will you get a hold of yourself?”

Derek passed a hand over his jaw, forcing himself to calm down. “What the hell happened?”

“Stiles had a doctor’s appointment after school today.”

“That’s right,” Derek said, remembering. “He’s been sick. The doctor wanted to do a follow-up, with more tests.” His heart gave an anxious thud. “What did they find?”

Laura fidgeted with the car keys. “Something called a low white count.”

Derek stared at her. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know!” Laura snapped. I’m not an expert on human ailments, am I? I’m sorry,” she added before Derek could snark back. “It’s just…” 

Laura paused, took a deep breath, and started over again. 

“Mrs. McCall took Stiles to the appointment,” she explained, “but afterwards he disappeared.”

“He was upset,” Derek said slowly. “Because of this count thing?”

“Yes,” Laura said. “Melissa said it was bad,” she added in a lower voice.

Derek’s felt ill with anxiety. “Bad how?”

Laura waved her hand vaguely. “There’s a blood sickness that humans get. I can’t remember the name. But it could be nothing,” she added quickly. “Melissa said they’d need to do more tests to be sure.”

“But Stiles freaked, the idiot,” Derek said, torn between relief and worry. “We need to find him right now.” 

Laura rolled her eyes. “Hello? The pack has been looking for him all night.”

“What about his house? His parents’ house.” Derek remembered Stiles hiding there, drunk and miserable on the anniversary of the fire. “We need to—"

Laura held up her hands to slow him down. “Scott and Isaac are there right now.”

“What about the cemetery? His parents’ gravestone?”

“Boyd and Erika already checked. Now will you please come home?” Laura pleaded. “It makes more sense to reconnoiter with everyone first rather than running off blindly into the night.”

“You’re right,” Derek said reluctantly. “But I’m driving.”

“If it will get you back in the car, fine,” Laura said. She tossed him the car keys and they switched places. 

Derek turned the key, but the car wouldn’t start. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He tried again, with the same result.

“Don’t flood the engine.” Laura griped. “This is a sedan, not your bad-boy muscle car.”

“It’s not the engine,” Derek said as the realization hit. “There’s magic in the air.”

Laura looked askance. “Okay, that’s poetic, but—"

“No!” Derek interrupted impatiently. “There’s actual magic.” He climbed out of the car, sniffing the air again. “Can’t you smell it?” he demanded as Laura got out the passenger side.

“Smell what?” she asked.

“It’s magic,” Derek explained. “But not Stiles’. His is sharp. This is more like…” He sniffed again. “Boiled cabbage.”

Laura wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s what that stench is? I’ve been smelling it for days.”

Derek nodded. “It’s why the car won’t start,” he said. “It interferes with electronics.” He turned slowly, scanning the woods again. The fog was a yellowish-green color, poisonous-looking, and there was an uneasy vibration in the air. Derek’s hackles rose as he sensed it. He felt a deep growl shudder its way out of his chest, and his claws and fangs emerged. 

Laura's eyes widened as she read his intent. “Go,” she said. ‘I’m right behind you.”

Derek turned and ran, already fully shifted. He howled as he went, signaling to his pack as well as to any intruders. He plunged off the road and into the forest, heading straight for Hale House. Soon he could feel Laura on his heels—her shift took longer than his, but she was just as fleet of foot in full form. The trailing tendrils of mist seemed to grab at his fur as he passed, while the throbbing tension in the air grew stronger, until Derek felt like his teeth were vibrating from it.

When he burst through the trees into the clearing, the house was wrapped so thickly in mist it was barely visible, even to wolf sight. The porch light burned valiantly against the encroaching fog, but as Derek watched it flickered abruptly, then came back at only half-strength. 

Derek howled again and shifted back to human form. As approached the house, the front door burst open. Lydia clattered down the steps and flung herself into his arms.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed into his neck. “Thank God you’re here.”

Derek hugged her back fiercely, then set her on the ground and held her at arm’s length. “Are you okay?”

Lydia nodded breathlessly. “I’m okay, just seriously freaked out.”

Derek heard his sister arrive behind him. “Laura told me about Stiles,” he told Lydia. “Have the others found him?”

Lydia shook her head. “Not yet. Come inside, I have to show you something.” She tugged at Derek’s hand with ice-cold fingers. Derek followed in her wake. Just as they entered the house, the lights went out.

“Shit, there goes the power,” he said.

“Hang on.” A faint blue glow appeared, and Derek realized it was Lydia’s cell phone. He followed the bobbing light into the family room, where there was the faint scrape of a match and the smell of sulfur, followed by flame. Lydia held the match to a row of candles already set up on the long table, and their comforting glow quickly filled the room.

Derek blinked. “You were expecting this?” 

Lydia nodded, pursing her lips. “There’s outages all over the place tonight. I just talked to Melissa and she said the hospital had to turn on the generators.”

“What did Melissa say about Stiles?” Derek asked eagerly. “Do they know anything more about his condition?”

“No, and that’s not our only problem.” 

Derek stared at her. “What do you mean, that’s not our only problem?”

Lydia took a deep breath. “Trust me,” she said. “It gets worse,”


	46. Chapter 46

Derek’s nerves were on edge. The house felt claustrophobic enveloped in the fog, and the darkness bothered him more than he cared to admit. Underneath it all was the steady pulse of panic in his heart.

Still, he tried to focus on what Lydia was saying.

“Remember when I promised to figure out why Stiles’ magic is weaker?”

Derek blinked, recalling his conversation with Lydia the night before he was taken. “Yeah. It seems like a month ago now, but I remember.”

“Well, I got exactly nowhere.” Lydia’s tone indicated the depth of her frustration.

“Shit.” Derek rubbed his jaw. “I guess it was a shot in the dark.”

Lydia shook her head, interrupting him. “I got nowhere until today.” She turned to where a backpack and its contents were spread across the table.

Derek frowned. “Isn’t that Stiles’ backpack?” 

Lydia nodded. “He left it behind when he ran away from the hospital.” She opened a notebook filled with Stiles’ sprawling handwriting. Tucked inside the pages was a map. Lydia flattened it on the table, placing the lit candles at all four corners to hold it open.

“It’s the preserve,” Derek murmured as he and Laura bent over to look.

Lydia nodded. In the glow of the candlelight, her eyes were luminous yet sharp with intelligence. “That’s Hale House,” she said, pointing to the map. “And here…” She indicated various points in a circle around the house. “Here are the trees where Stiles placed his wards.” 

She paused, looking up at Derek. “Almost every single one of those trees has died in the last three months. Each one had a nail driven through the bark.”

Derek swore. “You’ve been keeping track?”

“Not me,” Lydia said grimly. “Stiles. Whenever he found one of the trees dead, he recorded the date in his journal.” She leafed through the notebook, stopping at several pages to show Derek. “He’s also been recording his symptoms.”

“What? Let me see that.” Derek took the notebook and peered more closely at the pages. Stiles’ notations were extensive and meticulous. Derek’s heart sank as he read. “The dates correspond with the times he collapsed.”

“Roughly. It happened a lot more than he let on,” Lydia added. “If no-one was around…”

“He didn’t tell anyone,” Derek finished. He was definitely going to kick Stiles’ ass when he found him.

“Could the dates be a coincidence?” Laura asked.

Lydia smiled thinly. She took the book from Derek’s hand and turned a few pages to an earlier entry, then pointed to something scribbled in the margin.

“'One’s an incident,’” Derek read out loud. “‘Two’s a coincidence. Three’s a pattern.’”

“It gets weirder.” Lydia picked up a small book with tooled leather binding in dark red. “I’m pretty sure this is a spell book. Unfortunately, it’s written in Old Slavic, which I don’t read.”

“And it was in Stiles’ backpack?”

“No, here in the house.”

“I don’t recognize it.” Derek peered closer. “Was it among Peter’s books?”

“The ones in Stiles’ room? No,” Lydia said irritably. “I know because I’ve been sneaking into his room while he’s at school and going through his stuff.” She sighed. “The little shit had it hidden in plain sight, but I didn’t find it until about an hour ago.”

“Where?”

“In the kitchen.” Lydia made a face. “Among the cookbooks.”

Derek met her eyes ruefully. “The one place in the house no-one else ever goes.”

“Exactly.” Lydia set the book aside and opened Stiles’ notebook again. “There were references in Stiles’ notes about harming spells. Based on his notes, I think they came from this book.”

Derek picked up the book and carefully turned the crumbling pages. The contents were handwritten in fading ink and included detailed sketches of flowers and plants. Besides the comforting smell of old paper, the book had a sharp, spicy scent. 

“Stiles can read this language?” he asked.

Lydia shrugged. “Apparently. And I think it helped him figure out what’s going on. His last entry was yesterday.” Lydia opened Stiles' notebook to the correct page, and Derek skimmed the entry, which summed up the previous research.

 _Conclusion:_ was written at the end of the entry, and underneath: _SOMEONE’S KILLING ME_.

Howling erupted outside, and Derek jumped, his heart racing. Lydia let out a little shriek, and Laura wolfed out.

“It’s Scott and Isaac,” Derek said, quickly identifying their distinctive voices. He frowned as their scent reached him. “And someone else.”

The front door banged open.

“LYDIA?” Scott bellowed. 

“In here!” Lydia called.

Scott appeared in the doorway to the common room, fangs extended, fur standing on end, and eyes glowing yellow in the dark. When he saw Derek, his eyes widened.

“Derek!”

Derek let out an “Oof!” as Scott flung himself on him. The Beta was shaking, and Derek could sense his extreme emotional distress.

“Shh, pup,” he soothed. His arms came up automatically to encircle Scott, and he placed a firm hand on the back of his neck. “Settle down, I’ve got you.” 

“You’re okay now?” Scott whimpered into Derek’s chest.

“The pack could sense you were ill,” Laura murmured to Derek. “I told them you were better, but…” 

“I’m just fine,” Derek said, stroking the hairs on the back of Scott’s neck until they settled.

Scott sniffled. “And you’re back?”

“I’m back,” Derek said. “For good.” 

Scott pulled back and looked anxiously up at Derek’s face. “Stiles—”

“We’ll find him,” Derek said firmly.

He looked up as Isaac appeared in the doorway, manhandling a tall, struggling figure. 

“I’m fine,” Isaac said in response to Derek’s raised eyebrows. He shoved the figure down on his knees, Isaac’s clawed hand firmly encircling the man’s neck.

Derek saw a tall man with burly shoulders, dressed in jeans, boots, T-shirt, and a fatigue jacket. His clothing was torn and his face bruised and scratched—clearly, there had been a struggle. The man had thick dark hair, a squarish jaw, and eyes of piercing blue, currently glaring daggers at Derek. 

Derek gently shoved Scott aside. “Who the hell is this?”

“We found him at Stiles’ house,” Scott snarled, hastily wiping tears from his cheeks. “With these.” 

He pulled two objects from his pockets and set them on the table with a thud. Derek realized they were guns—a standard issue, plus a smaller model designed for an ankle holster. Scott had bent the barrels so that both weapons were useless.

“Wolfsbane bullets,” Scott growled, dropping them on the table with a clatter. “Plus these.” He tossed two knives on the table. One was a hunting knife, the other a smaller dagger with symbols carved in the handle. Derek picked it up, and the blade seemed to hum in his hand.

“He’s also carrying mountain ash,” Isaac said grimly. He tossed Derek a small glass vial of ash strung on a leather cord. The cord also bore a tarnished silver cross and a St. Michael medal. “He’s got the same symbol here,” Isaac said. The man struggled, cursing in a foreign language, as Isaac tugged aside his jacked and shirt, revealing a tattoo on his chest—again, an image of an angel, this one with wings of fire.

Derek growled, fighting to keep his rage in check. “You a hunter?” he asked.

The man showed his teeth in a feral grin. “No English.”

Isaac tightened his grip. “Answer the question.”

“No English.” The man’s voice was deep, with an accent Derek couldn’t place.

Isaac threaded his claws through the man’s hair and jerked his head back until he winced. “Answer the question, or I’ll rip your throat out.” 

The man looked furious, but obeyed. “No hunt,” he muttered.

“Who are you?” Derek asked.

The man set his jaw and didn’t answer. 

“Any ID on him?” Derek asked Isaac.

“No.” Isaac’s eyes flickered to Scott. “But he had this.” The man struggled and cursed again as Isaac reached into his pocket and pulled out a small square of paper, which he handed to Derek.

Derek turned it over and realized it was a photograph—the same photo that Stiles carried of him and his parents, seated on the back steps of their little white cottage. Only this photo was clean instead of charred and worn, with no writing on the back.

Derek felt his veins turn to ice.

He held up the photo. “Where did you get this?”

“No hunter,” the man insisted sullenly. “No kill wolf.” 

“Where did you get this?” Derek stepped closer.

“No hunt.”

“You son of a bitch!” Scott lunged forward, claws out. “What did you do to Stiles?”

“Scott, easy.” Derek put his hand on Scott’s shoulder, feeling him tremble with rage.

“Stiles is missing!” Scott insisted. “This asshole was at his house.” He pointed at the man. “ And he…” Scott hesitated, biting his lip. “He _smells_ like him,” he whispered.

Startled, Derek looked at Isaac. 

“It’s true,” Isaac told Derek. His face twisted in confusion. “But he also kinda doesn’t.”

“Stand him up,” Derek growled.

Isaac hauled the man to his feet. He flinched and glowered at the same time as Derek ran his nose along his exposed neck.

Sure enough, the man smelled like Stiles—but also different. Derek snarled in frustration and held up the photo. “What have you done with Stiles Stilinski?” 

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Stilinski.”

“Yeah,” Derek said through his teeth. “Stiles Stilinski. Where is he? What have you done to him?”

“Staś,” the man said. “Stilinski.”

“Stiles,” Scott insisted.

The man scowled at him. “Staś.”

“Stiles.”

“Staś!” 

“Stiles!”

“Scott.” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience.

“Staś.” The man clenched his fists, a vein bulging in his powerful neck. “Stanisław.”

Lydia let out a gasp and covered her mouth with her hand.

“What is it?” Derek asked, startled.

“That’s Stiles’ real name,” Lydia whispered. 

“Are you serious?”

“Dude.” Scott scowled. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Huh-uh.”

Lydia put her hands on her hips. “Okay, smart guy, then you tell me his real name. His _first_ name,” she added.

“It’s Stiles,” Scott said stubbornly. “It’s always been Stiles.”

“Don’t you remember kindergarten?” When Scott stared at her blankly, Lydia turned to Derek in exasperation. “The very first day of kindergarten, the teacher called Stiles Stanisław and everyone made fun of him. After that, he wouldn’t answer to it. He wouldn’t even look at Mrs. Franklin when she called on him. It’s why they sent him to special class.”

Lydia took the photo from Derek’s hand and turned to the man. “Stanisław,” she said, pointing to toddler Stiles in the photo. “Stas.”

The man nodded. “ _Tak_ ,” he said. “Stanisław.” He pointed a finger toward his chest. “Stanisław,” he said again. 

“It’s your name, too,” Lydia said, and the man nodded.

“Holy shit,” Derek said as the pieces fell into place. “You’re his kin.” He took the photo back from Lydia and held it up. “Family?”

Stanisław pointed to the woman in the photo, and his face twisted in grief. “ _Siostra_ ,” he said mournfully. “Sister.”

“Oh, my God,” Derek said. “That explains his scent,” he told the others. “Isaac, let him go.”

“Wait a minute,” Scott insisted. “How do we know he didn’t hurt Stiles? Just because he’s family doesn’t mean anything.”

“He’s got a point,” Isaac said.

Stanisław looked back and forth between them, frowning in confusion, then pointed at the photo again. “Dead.”

“I knew it!” Scott surged toward him again, and Derek hauled him back.

“Stiles isn’t dead,” he said. “Trust me, I would know.”

Stanisław blinked in confusion again. “No dead?”

“No,” Derek said. “I would sense it if his heart stopped,” he added for Scott’s benefit.

“ _Nie, nie_.” Stanisław shook his head angrily, then pointed at the picture again. “All dead.” He held up his fingers. “Three, four years.”

“No,” Derek said again. “Stiles—I mean, Staś. He’s alive.”

Stanisław's eyes widened. 

“Holy shit,” he said clearly. 

Then his knees buckled, and Derek caught him as he fell. 

“Watch out!” Scott warned. “It could be a trick.”

Derek ignored him and hoisted Stanisław into a chair, where he bent in half, burying his head in his hands. 

“Just breathe,” Derek told him. “Slow and easy.”

Stanisław's shoulders shuddered for a few moments until he got his breathing under control. Then he raised his head, wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, and looked up at Derek, his expression uncertain. For the first time, Derek could see a family resemblance with Stiles.

“You swear?” he whispered.

“I swear,” Derek said.

Stanisław took a deep breath. “My sister?”

“I’m very sorry,” Derek said gently. “But your sister and her husband died.”

Stanisław closed his eyes in pain. “Fire.” 

Derek hesitated. Stanisław opened his eyes and peered up at Derek again. “No fire?”

“There was a fire, afterward,” Derek said carefully. “But they were killed in a magical attack.”

Stanisław's face darkened, and his eyes narrowed in anger. “We were not told this.”

Derek took a deep breath. “The territorial emissary—"

“ _KURWA MAĆ_!” Stanisław brought his fist down on the table with a thump. The candle flames flared a foot high, making everyone jump back in alarm. 

Then he stood and kicked the chair across the room

“Get your paws off me, you damn dirty wolf!” he snarled at Isaac when he tried to restrain him. He stormed out of the house, bellowing what was clearly a string of Polish curse words. Derek could hear him pacing the porch, still cursing and occasionally kicking the side of the house. Finally, he stomped back in the room, still muttering under his breath.

“—God-damn motherfucking shithead emissaries God- **DAMN**!”

He glared at Derek, blue eyes blazing. “Why the fuck wasn’t my family told about this?”

“To be fair,” Derek said, keeping his tone neutral, “they didn’t know who was behind the attack. They thought, given the estrangement, it might even have been your family.”

“God-dammit.” Stanisław put his hand on his hips and glared at the floor. Then he dragged the chair back in place and sat heavily, rubbing a hand along his unshaven jaw. “That’s not an entirely unreasonable assumption, given who my father was,” he said finally. “Still, I hate those tricksy motherfuckers.”

“I hear you.” Derek pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. “I’m Derek Hale of the Hale Clan, Alpha of Beacon Hills. My sister, Alpha Laura Hale.” He nodded at Laura, who sketched a little wave. “This is Lydia, and you’ve already made the acquaintance of Scott and Isaac.”

Stanisław smirked at them. “For the record, I could have taken you both. I just chose to play along to get intel.”

“Wanna try again?” Isaac snarked back.

“Maybe later.” Stanisław winked at them, then held out his hand to Derek. “I’m Stanisław Michał Serafin, of House Serafin. But you can call me Stan. Most Americans do.” 

“All who come in peace are welcome on my lands,” Derek said formally as they shook. Stan's fingers were long, his grip powerful. “Do you mind my asking what happened to your accent?”

Stan smirked again. “I immigrated to this country when I was 18. I lost the accent a long time ago, but I fake it when I want people to think I don’t understand what they’re saying. It comes in handy at work—you have no idea the stupid shit people will say in front of you when they think you no speak-a da English.”

“And your work is?” Derek asked politely.

“Undercover cop, Pittsburgh PD,” Stan replied easily. “Narco squad.” He leaned forward. “Look, do you swear to me that my nephew is alive?”

“On my honor as an Alpha, I swear it.”

“Where is he now?”

“We don’t know,” Derek admitted. “He went missing earlier this evening. But we’ll find him,” he added, glancing at Scott.

Stan frowned at Derek, his eyes suspicious. “But he’s…like you now. Were,” he added bitterly when Derek didn’t answer. “You bit him?”

Derek shook his head. “Stiles is human. He’s a full member of my pack,” he added firmly. “But human.”

“Would you like to see a picture?” Lydia asked suddenly.

Stan blinked at her. “Sure.”

“Scott,” Lydia said gently.

Scott glowered. “I don’t trust him.”

“Scott,” Derek ordered. “Do it.”

Scott muttered, but obediently pulled out his phone and cued up a picture of Stiles. Derek recognized it—Stiles half-smiled, half-squinted at the camera, scratching his head. His hair was mussed and his face grimy from lacrosse practice.

Stan took the phone in his large hand, looked at the screen, and gave an involuntary gasp. He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against them for a long moment before opening them again.

“Jesus,” he said, his voice rough. “He looks just like his mother.” He rubbed his thumb gently over the screen, then reluctantly handed the phone back to Scott. “Thank you,” he added, and Scott nodded stiffly.

“Okay.” Stan clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Q and A time. What in the ever-loving fuck—pardon my French, ladies,” he nodded to Lydia and Laura, “is the only grandson of the most powerful witch in Poland doing in a freaking wolf pack?”

Derek sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Make it short,” Stan said grimly. “Because I guarantee you—wherever my nephew is, he’s in terrible danger.”


	47. Chapter 47

Derek didn’t tell Stan everything, of course. Even though the man was kin to Stiles, he was still an outsider, not pack. 

The others followed Derek’s lead, giving Stan a succinct but edited overview of the last few years, from the time of the fire through Peter’s reign of terror, to when Derek became Alpha of Beacon Hills.

Nobody mentioned that Stiles and Derek were mates.

Stan listened intently, his blue eyes shrewd and focused. Several times he became visibly angry and had to stomp outside and kick the porch until he calmed down.

When Derek finished speaking, Stan sat with this chin on his fist.

“Your turn,” Derek told him. “We shared our intel,” he added when Stan glowered at him. “Now you share yours.”

Stan rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Let’s start with this.” Derek held up the photo of Stiles with his parents. “You took this picture, didn’t you?”

Stan flinched. “Yeah. I only visited once,” he added defensively. “I knew it wasn’t safe for Anna. I just had to know…” He hesitated. “I had to know whether I had done the right thing. I was the one who helped Anna elope with John Stilinski,” he added when Derek raised his eyebrows.

“I understand your sister had an arranged marriage.”

Stan’s face twisted in distaste, and he rose to pace the room. “Yeah. How fucked up is that? I mean, who does that these days?”

Derek forbore from mentioning his own situation. “Your parents didn’t arrange a match for you?”

“Are you kidding?” Stan gave a bark of laughter and jerked his thumb at his chest. “Second son of a second wife. Nobody was interested in me, thank God. But Anna was my parents’ only daughter.” He shrugged. “Such things matter. Jesus, does anyone have a cigarette?” he added irritably. “I’m trying to quit but I’m about to crawl out of my skin here.”

“Hang on,” Laura said. “Don’t look at me like that,” she told Derek primly. “They’re for emergencies.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Stan muttered as he shook out a cigarette and slid it between his lips. “No, thanks,” he added when Laura offered a lighter. 

“Anyway,” Stan continued, cupping his hands around the cigarette, “Anna was engaged to my best friend from boyhood, Cezary Król. “ 

Stan snapped his fingers, and a spark appeared. Flame flared as the spark met the tip of the cigarette. Stan inhaled deeply, and the tip glowed red in the semi-darkness. 

“Jesus, that’s good,” he breathed. “Anna was 12 when she told me she wouldn’t marry Zarek,” he continued. “I didn’t take her seriously – she was 12 years old, for Christ’s sake. I should have listened to her then.” He shook his head glumly, exhaling a long stream of smoke through his nose. Derek winced at the smell.

“She didn’t like the guy?” Lydia asked Stan.

He shrugged. “She liked him well enough.” He leaned against the fireplace, tapping the ashes of his cigarette in the grate as he smoked. “We all grew up together,” he explained, “although Zarek and I were a few years older.” 

Stan’s face twisted a little at the memory. “He was everything I wasn’t – handsome, charming, popular. Ambitious. I thought he’d make her a fine husband – take care of her, you know?” He smiled fondly. “Ania was headstrong and impulsive, got into all sorts of mischief on her own.”

“I know the type,” Derek said quietly.

Stan scowled, scratching his chin. “Apparently Cezary changed when he came into his power. No one else could see it.”

He shook his head again, his face rueful. “Ania always noticed things the rest of us missed. She said he was like a wasp hiding inside in an apple. A pretty surface, sure, but underneath? All sting. She was right, too, even though I couldn’t see it until–”

Stan hesitated, glancing at Lydia. “Anyway, Anna tried to talk my parents out of it. If anyone could have, it would have been her.” He smiled ruefully again. “My brothers and I claimed she was spoiled rotten because she was the youngest and the only girl, but it was hard not to give in to her. Little Ania Serafina always got what she wanted.” 

“But your parents insisted on the marriage,” Derek said.

Stan sighed, then sat heavily in the chair and planted his chin on his fist again. “My father was a hard man,” he said finally. “Hell, he had to be. He fought the Nazis, he fought the Communists. He was 65 when Ania was born. Set in his ways, you know? And proud. The money the House shelled out on that wedding? Jesus.”

Stan rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I came home a few weeks beforehand. Anna took me aside and told me about John. I was appalled, of course, but she convinced me to meet him.” Stan paused, his eyes distant.

“I’m told he was a good man,” Derek said.

Stan nodded. “He was. Smart, solid, steady. He balanced Ania out, you know? He gave her someone to lean on and she…hell, she brought him to life. And the man didn’t have a deceitful bone in his body.” Stan grimaced as he exhaled more smoke, making Derek’s eyes water. 

“When I heard they were dead…” Stan’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat.

“God-damn cigarettes,” he growled. He ground his cigarette out on the sole of his boot and flicked the butt in the fireplace.

“When you got the news…” Derek prompted gently. He heart ached for the man—he couldn’t imagine how he’d cope if Laura was killed—but he was also keenly aware that time was passing and Stiles was still missing.

Stan cleared his throat again. “I wondered if it was my fault,” he said. “If I put them in danger by visiting that one time.” He looked at Derek, his eyes bleak. “To tell you the truth, I was almost relieved when I heard was a simple house fire. Bad wiring, we were told.” 

He chuckled sadly. “That God-damn house was falling apart at the seams, but it was all they could afford, and besides, Anna loved it. She got her way, as usual.” 

“So what are you doing here now?” Scott interrupted belligerently. 

Stan narrowed his eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“The fire was years ago,” Scott said, his chin jutting stubbornly. “You never showed up before. Why now?”

“That’s a good question,” Isaac said.

Stan glared balefully at them. ”I had a dream,” he said reluctantly. “A month or so back. I was in a forest at night during a storm. Somehow I knew Staś was in danger, so I called out to warn him.”

Derek met Scott’s eyes. He knew they were both remembering the same thing.

_Half a mile from home, Stiles sat up abruptly in his seat, his heart beat spiking in alarm._

_“What’s wrong?” Derek asked._

_Stiles turned, peering out the back window. Derek extended his senses, but couldn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary._

_“Stiles!” he said sharply. “What is it?”_

_Suddenly, Stiles lunged across the seat, twisting the wheel in Derek’s hands. The movement caught Derek off guard, and the car veered wildly across the road._

Stiles had heard a voice call out a warning, Derek recalled—a voice that knew his real name.

He dragged his attention back to the present as Stan spoke.

“I told myself it was just a dream,” he said, “but it wouldn’t leave me. Like an itch you can’t scratch, know what I mean?” As if to emphasize his point, Stan scratched the back of his neck vigorously. 

“So a week ago, I went home to Kielce,” he continued, “for the first time since my father’s funeral.” He paused. “I told my mother it was just a visit, but she called bullshit. I never could lie to the woman.”

“I know the feeling,” Derek murmured.

Stan leaned forward in his chair. “Turns out, my mother had been having dreams, too. Dreams where Ania appeared, begging Mama to help her. The next day, word reached us about Cezary.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “What word?”

“He went missing three months ago.”

***

Derek stared at Stan. “Three months? Are you sure?”

“Near as I can figure.” Stan glanced at Lydia in curiosity as she started scrabbling frantically through Stiles’ notes. 

“I went to Krakow and tracked him down,” he continued. “I even found a distant cousin of his who could be persuaded to talk. He said Zarek got a letter from America and vanished a week later. I pulled some strings with Homeland Security and found out he had flown to Chicago, then California. So I got on the first flight back to the States and came here. I thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Derek asked impatiently.

Stan scowled. “There’s a type of dark magic,” he said reluctantly. “Performed at the grave of an enemy. A kind of final violation or desecration. When I got to Beacon Hills, I drove straight to the cemetery.” 

Stan’s voice grew rough again, and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t see anything amiss, so I went to the house. And that’s where these two idiots collared me.” He nodded toward Scott and Isaac.

“What was the exact date?” Lydia snapped.

Stan blinked in surprise. “Come again, sweetheart?”

“The date whatshisname vanished.”

“Tail end of August, I guess.”

Lydia’s mouth thinned. “Right before you arrived,” she told Derek. She held out the red book to Stan. “Can you read this?”

Stan glanced at Derek and, at his nod, stood. “I can try.” He took the book from Lydia and leafed through the pages, then looked at her, startled. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“It belongs to Stiles.”

“Where did he get it?”

Lydia rolled her eyes in frustration, then beckoned Stan to the table. “Just listen,” she ordered. “I’m only going through this once.” She quickly showed him Stiles’ map and journal as well as the spell book. As she spoke, Stan’s eyes flickered rapidly over the map, looking exactly like Stiles did when he was absorbing information at lightning speed. 

The thought brought a pang to Derek’s heart, so he rose and beckoned Scott and Isaac. 

“Any word from the rest of the pack?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Scott pulled out his cell phone, then cursed. “Signal’s gone.”

“Mine, too,” Isaac said.

“Laura?” Derek turned to her, but she was already shaking her head as she looked at her phone. 

“Dammit,” Derek swore. “We need to get everyone back here now.”

Isaac ran a hand through his curls, an anxious gesture. “Boyd and Erica were checking for Stiles at the hospital, just in case he went back. Jackson and Allison are scouting the school.”

“My mom’s car died halfway up the hill,” Scott put in. “Do you think…?”

Derek nodded. “Yeah. Same thing happened to me, and it’s definitely connected.”

“That means the rest of the pack will have to come through the preserve on foot,” Isaac said worriedly.

“Well, then,” Derek said. “I’ll just have to do things the old-fashioned way.”

***

Out on the front porch, Derek sniffed the air. The putrid smell was worse than before, while the fog had only gotten worse. When he howled for the pack, the heavy air seemed to muffle and deaden the sound, almost as if it were trying to isolate Hale House from help.

Derek howled again, louder, using the specific warning call for danger, followed by the order _Pack return to den!_ He strained his ears for a reply, but heard nothing. 

Tamping down his panic, he went back inside, where Laura, Scott, and Isaac watched as Lydia and Stan circled the table, talking rapidly. Lydia beckoned Derek over as Stan sat at the table, pointing to a page in the spell book.

“Yeah, this is the technique he used,” he said, then murmured softly, “Good boy.”

“We’re definitely under attack,” Lydia told Derek as he approached. “Like we suspected, the trees being poisoned was how Król did it.” She nodded to where half a dozen rusty nails were spread across the map. Each one had a bone tied to it with a red ribbon.

”Stiles collected them from the dead trees and hid them in his backpack,” Lydia explained at Derek’s frown.

“Without telling anyone about it,” Derek muttered angrily.

Stan looked up from the spell book and snorted in amusement. “Sneaky little shit, huh? It runs in the family.”

“Are you sure it’s Król who’s doing this?” Derek asked Lydia.

“The timeline makes sense,” Lydia answered. “The attacks started shortly after he disappeared. The question is, how did he even find out Stiles was alive?”

“The letter,” Derek said, feeling rage rise at the thought. “Someone tipped him off.”

“I don’t get it,” Scott interrupted. “How can poisoning trees in the preserve hurt Stiles?”

Lydia looked at Stan, who gnawed on his thumbnail.

“Talk,” Derek ordered him. “Or so help me God—"

“Okay, okay, don’t go all Alpha on me.” Stan waved his hands, then turned to Laura. “Gimme another one, wouldja, sister?”

“We don’t have time,” Derek began angrily, but Laura shushed him as she handed Stan a cigarette. 

“Let the man explain,” she said sternly.

Stan lit the cigarette in the same manner as before, then ran his hand over his chin. “Okay,” he said. “A witch gets his or her power from the earth, the elements. Most of us have strong ties to a specific natural place – a mountaintop, a river, whatever. In Staś' case, Beacon Hills.”

Stan pointed to the map. “We work with nature, rather than against it. Staś used his connection to the trees to keep Beacon Hills safe, by placing wards within them.”

“Those leather pouches,” Derek said, remembering his first morning in Beacon Hills.

_To Derek’s surprise, Stiles took a running leap onto a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree, then quickly climbed higher until he reached a fork in the trunk._

_He pulled what looked like a small leather pouch out of a depression in the bark and untied it. Derek caught the pungent scent of herbs, along with a bitter burnt smell. Stiles pulled a knife out of his pocket, and flipped it open._

_Derek couldn’t quite see what Stiles was doing, but he seemed to be carving something. After a few minutes, he replaced the contents in the pouch and stuffed the pouch back into the tree._

“Right,” Stan continued. “We use specific plants along with magical objects – feathers, stones, ash. By placing the wards in the trees, Staś was able to create a magical barrier to keep evil out while allowing those he trusted in.”

“My car,” Derek said suddenly. “My cell phone. When I first got here, they stopped working. Until Stiles fixed them.”

“By adding you to the list of those he wanted to protect,” Stan said. 

“But the barrier’s been failing,” Scott said urgently.

Stan leaned back in his chair. “If you want to weaken a witch—"

Derek interrupted. “You attack the source of his power.”

“Exactly,” Stan said. “You poison the natural element from which he draws his strength.” He picked up one of the nails, then dropped it, swearing, as it buzzed angrily—just like it had done in Stiles’ hand the morning after the storm.

“Stiles was right,” Derek said in alarm. “Someone’s killing him.”

“Slowly but thoroughly.” Lydia pointed to the locations on the map where the trees had died. “As the trees weaken and die, Stiles weakens. Not just his magic, but his physical health.”

“The fainting spells,” Laura murmured.

Lydia nodded. “And the low white count.” She looked up at Derek, eyes wide and anxious. “Stiles’ body is dying. And he knows it.”

Derek wanted to howl with fear and grief, but forced himself to stay calm. 

“Can this spell be reversed?” he asked Stan.

Stan shrugged, his cigarette bobbing between his lips as he spoke. “Sure, if you kill the witch who cast it.”

“Then let’s kill him,” Derek said.

Stan squinted up at Derek and smiled a slow, ferocious smile. A thin plume of smoke drifted up from his cigarette and curled around his head like a halo.

“Fuck, yeah,” he replied.

Derek bent over the map. “How do we find him?”

“There’s a few trees that Staś spelled that are still alive,” Stan said. “Right, Lydia?”

She nodded, pointing to several locations on the map. “Here and here. And the largest, oldest tree in the preserve is here, near the Moondocks.”

“It’s easy,” Scott said eagerly. “We’ll split up and—"

“No,” Derek said firmly. “Stan and I will go. The rest of you stay here.”

Scott gaped at him. “Are you serious? Stiles is my best friend—"

Derek raised his voice. “You’re staying here, and that’s an order.”

“Listen to your Alpha, kid.” Stan stood, tucking the spell book in the pocket of his jacket. “Król's dangerous.”

“I don’t care!” Scott replied hotly, then turned to Derek. “You heard him. Stiles is _dying_. "

“Which means we don’t have time to argue,” Derek snapped. “Stay here and wait for my order.”

“But how will you know where to go?” Isaac asked as Scott fumed. “If Król's going after the remaining trees, there’s three different potential locations. The preserve is huge. You can’t possibly cover it all in one night.”

Stan paused in strapping his hunting knife back on his ankle. “Kid’s got a point.”

“No.”

“Derek,” Laura said gently. 

“No!” Derek hunched over the map. “We just have to think it through. Which one is Król most likely to attack next?”

Scott scowled and folded his arms. “That one’s the farthest from Hale House,” he said grudgingly, nodding at one of the three points on the map.

Isaac bent over the table. “Okay, does that make him more likely or less likely to choose it?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Stan rubbed his thick hair until it stood up in spikes even more. “I wish I knew more about the lay of the land. Which areas are more magical.”

“This tree is at the top of a hill,” Laura said, pointing. “Does that make a difference?”

“Shit.” Stan rubbed his eyes. “It might.”

“Whaddya mean, _might_?” Scott snarled. “Either is does or it doesn’t.”

“Listen, punk—“

As the others argued, Derek closed his eyes, trying to shut out their voices and focus on his connection with Stiles. It felt so weak, so faint, and Derek shuddered at the knowledge that his mate was dying. But maybe, if he breathed deeply and concentrated hard enough, he could somehow sense—

“A pattern,” he said abruptly, opening his eyes. 

The others stared at him.

“What?” Scott asked.

Derek grabbed the journal, flipping through the pages until the found the notation. “Stiles wrote it in his notes. One's an incident, two's a coincidence—“

“Three’s a pattern,” Lydia finished.

“Stiles always figures things out, right?” Derek asked.

“Right,” Scott said confidently.

“Which means if there’s a pattern here, Stiles figured it out.”

“Should we go through the notes again?” Laura asked.

“No time.” Derek turned to Lydia. “What is it?”

Lydia looked at him with uncertainty. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Even if Stiles didn’t write it down, the clues are all there, correct?”

“Of course,” Lydia said promptly.

“So look at the map and tell me the pattern.”

Lydia stared at the map, brow wrinkled.

“Where will he attack next, Lydia?” Derek asked.

Lydia bit her lip.

“Lydia,” Derek said again, more loudly. “What’s the damn pattern?”

“It’s a spiral,” Lydia whispered. “Stiles cast his wards in a spiral…No, wait!” She pointed eagerly at the map. “It’s three spirals.” 

Derek’s heart warmed. “A triskelion.”

“Exactly!” Lydia said. “Each one starting from Hale House.”

“Sneaky little shit,” Stan muttered.

Derek blinked at the map in frustration. “I can’t see it,” he said.

“Me neither,” Scott fretted. 

Isaac turned his head sideways like a dog to peer at the map. “Can you draw it or something?”

“Guys! It’s so obvious!” Lydia’s cheeks were pink with excitement. “Just look!”

“Let’s cut to the chase instead,” Laura put in. “Assuming Król's destroying the trees in the same order, where does that place the next one?” 

She pointed to location of the tree furthest from Hale house. 

“Here?”

Lydia stared at the map. Her eyes glazed over. 

Laura pointed to the tree on the top of the hill.

“Here?”

Lydia’s lips moved silently.

Laura pointed to the Moondocks.

“Or here?”

Lydia screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Enid for helping with Polish names and phrases! All mistakes are mine.


	48. Chapter 48

When Lydia screamed, all the werewolves clapped their hands over their ears. Stan jumped backward a full foot in alarm, swearing a blue streak.

Derek didn’t blame him. His own hair was standing on end from horror. 

As the eerie cry ended, Lydia’s eyes rolled back, and she slumped in exhaustion. Derek caught her and carried her to his chair. 

“Blankets,” he ordered. “Water. Now!”

Scott and Isaac stumbled over each other in their haste to obey. Laura joined Derek and gently stroked the hair off Lydia’s face.

“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick,” Stan said weakly. “What the hell was that?”

Ignoring him, Derek knelt at Lydia’s feet and took her hands. They were ice cold. “Lydia, can you hear me?” 

Lydia didn’t answer. She stared at the floor, shivering, her eyes still blank, her lips moving soundlessly. Scott returned with a blanket. Derek wrapped it around Lydia and gently rubbed her hands between his to warm them. “Come on, sweetheart. Come back to us, okay?” 

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Stan asked plaintively.

Isaac approached with a bottle of water. Laura took it and held it Lydia’s lips. “Just a sip, Lydia. That’s a good girl,” she added when Lydia obeyed automatically.

Lydia took a few more sips, then blinked slowly. 

“She’s coming back,” Scott said.

Derek squeezed her hands. “Lydia?”

“Yes, Alpha?” she whispered.

“What did you see, honey?”

Lydia’s eyes widened suddenly. Her head jerked up, and she stared at Derek. “Oh, my God!”

“Lydia,” Derek said urgently. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Oh, my God.” Lydia closed her eyes in grief. Tears rolled down her cheek, and her body started to shake.

Scott gave a whine of distress. “We’re too late.”

“The hell we are.” Derek squeezed Lydia’s hands. “Lydia, talk to me.”

Lydia rocked back and forth, whispering. Derek strained to hear, but couldn’t make sense of the words.

“Ask her about the map,” Scott urged.

“Lydia.” Derek tightened his grip, feeling the others clustered close behind him in anxiety. “The map. Did you see on the map where we should go to find Stiles?” 

Lydia frowned. “The map…”

“Did you see Stiles?”

Lydia let out a hoarse gasp, and her eyes flew open. “The tree. He’s at the tree.”

“Which tree, Lydia? Where do we go?”

Lydia leaned forward, her eyes huge. She gripped Derek’s hand so tightly it felt like they might break. “The Moondocks,” she whispered. “ Derek, _now_.”

Derek was already on his feet. “Scott, Isaac, stay here and wait for the rest of the pack. Don’t argue with me, just do it!” he added as Scott opened his mouth to object. “Laura—"

“I’m on it.” Laura curled her arm protectively around Lydia. To Derek’s surprise, Lydia leaned into her embrace. 

“Thank you,” Derek breathed, then headed for the door. Stan blocked his way.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Big Bad Wolf. What the hell is going on?”

“Just shut up and follow me.”

***

“She’s a what?”

“A banshee.”

“A what?” 

Derek leapt over a fallen log. “A banshee.”

Stan’s breathing was ragged but he stubbornly kept pace behind Derek. “Newsflash, Hale. A banshee is a mythical creature.”

“So are werewolves,” Derek snapped as he vaulted over a boulder. The Moondocks were less than a mile away, beyond a steep ridge.

“Banshees predict death. Are you saying Staś is dead?”

“He’s not dead!” Derek rounded on Stan. “I would know it.” He shifted and ran on, putting on a burst of speed as he climbed the ridge.

“Dammit, Hale, slow down!”

Stan’s voice grew fainter as Derek tore ahead of him. He burst into an open area at a dead run, then skidded to a stop.

He looked around him, then turned in a complete circle in confusion. 

This wasn’t the Moondocks.

Derek shifted back, swearing loudly. He’d been positive he’d been heading in the right direction.

He turned again, peering into the darkness. But the thick fog crowded around him, making it difficult to see even with his night vision. He sniffed the air, but the putrid stench that hung over the forest seemed to dull his own sense of smell. Worst of all, he had lost that unerring sixth sense, that inner certainty that told him exactly where he was on his own land.

He tensed as there was a loud thrashing in the underbrush, and his claws and fangs sprung out.

He relaxed a second later as Stan burst into the clearing and dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

“God-dammit, Hale!” he said, his chest heaving. “I told you to slow down!”

“We need to find Stiles,” Derek said through his teeth. 

“You won’t find him without me,” Stan insisted, even as he struggled for air. “And if we are dealing with Król, taking him on by yourself is suicide. You need me, and you know it.”

Derek bared his teeth in reply, then turned to scan the clearing. It galled him to admit, even to himself, that Stan might be right: 

“Oh, and by the way,” Stan sneered, “I know perfectly well you’re not telling me everything.”

Derek repressed a surge of guilt. “Neither are you,” he snapped back.

There was a long silence. Derek turned to look at Stan, who glanced away.

“What?” Derek asked.

Stan sighed and rubbed his jaw. Then he got up from his knees and started prowling the clearing, picking up sticks of varying sizes and then throwing them back in the underbrush.

“That time I visited Anna,” he said finally, “Staś was five. He showed me his toy trucks and introduced me to his stuffed animals and told me all about his best friend Scott.” He turned to Derek. “But I swear to God, I never saw him do magic.”

Derek frowned. “Stiles was a late blooder, right? I mean, a late bloomer.”

Stan grimaced. “Apparently, from what you say.”

“And when that happens, the powers are more difficult to control.” 

“And how.” Stan rubbed his jaw again, looking at Derek through narrowed eyes.

“What?” Derek prompted.

“I’m not used to telling the secrets of my people to our mortal enemy,” Stan snapped.

Derek spread his hands wide, careful to keep his claws retracted. “We’re on the same side here. We both want to save Stiles.”

“I know that,” Stan snarled, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He stood for a few seconds with his hands on his hips, then spoke reluctantly. 

“My people are from Kielce, in the Holy Cross Mountains. That part of Poland sees more lightning storms than any other region.”

“And let me guess,” Derek said mildly. “Your people have something to do with that?” 

Stan nodded. “House Serafin rules fire, or electricity. Anything that takes a spark.”

Derek remembered his first conversation with Deaton, all those months ago.

_My office is warded all to hell, against wolves and witches and what-have-yous, but the first time Stiles walked through the door he blew every damn light bulb in the place._

Stan moved closer. “What is it?” 

"Sometimes when Stiles gets upset…” 

"Shit happens?” Stan asked sardonically. “Sparks fly?” 

Derek nodded, remembering sparks shooting out of the electric lights the night Stiles fought with Jackson. 

Stan let out a breath. “I figured as much.” He turned and started prowling the clearing again. “The fire at Anna’s house. It was caused by a lightning bolt.” 

Derek blinked. “Are you sure?” 

Stan glared at him. “Of course I’m sure. And from what you told me, your uncle died in a fire that was also caused by a lightning strike." 

Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “So you’re saying Stiles can call down the lightning?” 

“Sure,” Stan shrugged. “It would take a powerful emotional impetus—" 

“Like someone killing his parents?” Derek asked sarcastically. 

Stan scowled. “Exactly. But he pays a price. If you wield that kind of power without replenishing it, you can literally burn yourself out.” 

_Stiles blinked rapidly, his face growing pale. Even as Derek felt his heartbeat stutter, Stiles dropped to his knees._

_“It’s the magic,” Scott explained. “It always takes it out of him."_

“What?” Stan demanded again. 

Derek shrugged. “Stiles gets pretty exhausted after he does magic.” 

“Of course he does.” Stan tossed a branch away in disgust. “Because he hasn’t been trained.” 

Derek bristled. “He’s been taking lessons from the local Emissary, Dr. Deaton—" 

“ _Kurwa MAĆ_!” Stan spat. “A mage? Those assholes know nothing of born magic.” 

“So what are you saying?” Derek asked defensively. “And what the hell are you doing?” he added, irritated with Stan’s prowling. 

Stan turned, hefting a long, heavy stick, and quickly broke the smaller twigs off if. “Even without what Król’s doing to him, Staś is in trouble.” 

"How so?” 

“If he uses that much power again,” Stan said flatly, “it could kill him.” 

Derek’s blood ran cold. “Jesus.” 

Stan walked closer. “Which is why we need to find him before he tries to fight Król on his own.” He pointed the staff at Derek. “And right now, you don’t know where the hell you are, do you?” 

Derek bristled again. “This is my land.” 

“But right now you can’t tell east from west. You should.” Stan stepped closer “You should feel it in your blood, your bones.” 

“What’s your point?” Derek snarled. 

“House Król rules air. My guess is Zarek made all this.” Stan gestured with the staff, indicating the creeping fog around them. “He made it to create confusion and fear.” 

Stan tapped the staff against Derek’s chest. “Zarek is a master of illusion, which means he’s got plenty of other tricks up his sleeve, as well.” 

Derek slapped the stick away. “So?” 

“So you need to let me lead the way. Whether you like it or not.” Stan stepped backward and held up the staff. The top burst into flames, ones that burned without consuming. 

_Crimson drops of fire fell from Stiles’ fingers like rose petals, gathering in a heap on the ground. There, they burned merrily, consuming nothing as they danced._

_Stiles straightened, the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned his hand palm up, and the fire rose higher. A fountain of sparks shot like fireworks from his palm, leaping into the night sky and falling back toward his upturned face._

The fire’s glow lit Stan’s features, making his blue eyes gleam. 

"Got it?” he asked Derek. 

“Got it,” Derek said reluctantly. 

Stan turned and plunged into the darkness. Where his staff burned, the fog receded. Derek gritted his teeth and followed. 

_***_

After fifteen minutes, Derek saw another light ahead—a sickly yellowish light. The trees stood out in stark relief against it, like a grate across a fireplace. The putrid smell that hung over the forest seemed stronger. 

Stan crouched down, Derek at his heels. The fire on Stan’s staff winked out, and he drew his knife—the smaller ritual one, not the hunting blade. 

Stan touched the point of the knife to the earth, and he muttered a string of words that had a sing-song, Slavic cadence. Using the knife, he drew a cross in the air before him, then stood, holding the staff in one hand, knife in the other. He looked back at Derek, his face grim and set. 

"Whatever happens,” he said, “stay behind me.” 

As they moved closer through the trees, Derek saw the familiar shapes of the Moondocks, including a tree so huge and twisted that its branches, as thick around as ordinary trunks, almost touched the ground. The Pack loved to climb there, competing to see who could be the first to swarm up its great height. 

The fire burned in front of the tree, and a figure scuttled around the fire, darting quickly from place to place. 

As it moved, the figure chanted in a high voice, and the words seemed to buzz in Derek’s ears. They sounded comforting, almost soothing, and Derek found his eyelids drooping. 

"Hey! Dumbass!” 

Derek blinked as Stan’s face appeared before him, looking furious. 

“Snap out of it!” 

Derek shook his head, and the drowsiness faded. Stan had already turned away, striding into the clearing as if he owned the place. 

Derek hurried after. 

Still chanting, the figure by the fire tossed something into the flames. The fire flared, and the putrid smell grew more intense, making Derek’s eyes water. Ropes of the yellow fog poured out of flames, as well, spreading outward across the ground and twining upward into the branches of the great tree. The chanting rose higher, and Derek had to shake his head again as he felt its numbing effect. 

He realized Stan was halfway across the clearing, but the figure didn’t seem to have noticed. As Derek watched, Stan raised his staff above his head. 

With a shout, he drove it into the ground. Blue flames burst from the top again, soaring upward into the overhanging branches. Again, as the light spread outward, the fog retreated before it. 

The chanting broke off abruptly as the figure at the fire turned. 

Stan called out something, and the fog pulled back further. As it did, more of the tree was revealed. 

Derek saw Stiles tied to the trunk with rope, his arms spread and lashed to the lower branches. His head drooped, and blood ran down his face. Black symbols were painted on his feet, which were bare, and on his hands and throat . 

On the earth in front of him, a series of seven long iron nails lay with their pointed ends in the fire, the tips glowing red as coals.

The figure strode toward them, hissing in rage. Derek's hackles rose, and he found himself taking a step backwards in sheer terror. 

As he drew closer, the figure resolved into a man dressed in jeans, boots, and a heavy sweatshirt with the hood drawn up. In one hand, he held a curved knife; in the other, a hammer. 

"Zarek Król,” Stan said casually. “Long time, no see.” 


	49. Chapter 49

_Dearest Readers, thank you SO MUCH for your incredible patience! I know this chapter took forever, but I hope you like it. I have the month off from school, so I’m going to try to post as many chapters as I can. Thanks again to Enid for helping with Polish names and words. And now, on with the story!_

***

_Cinderstiles--Chapter 49_

The man threw back his hood, revealing reddish-blonde hair and an almost startlingly handsome face. His eyes glinted pale green in the firelight, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and soothing, almost hypnotic. 

“Stasiek Serafin.” He inclined his head in a gesture of recognition, then spoke in Polish.

“Uh-uh,” Stan interrupted harshly, pulling a cigarette from inside his jacket. “English.”

Król hesitated, then spoke in a heavy accent. “You forget your mother tongue so easily, my old friend?”

Stan lit the cigarette in his usual manner. “Spare me the friend crap,” he said flatly. “This is war.” 

Król raised an elegant brow “You think so?” 

“You bet your ass.” Stan stepped closer, exhaling smoke. “Open war, your house against mine.”

Amusement flickered across Król face. “How you figure?” 

“You murdered my sister. You murdered her man. You tried to murder their child.” Stan nodded toward Stiles. “Not to mention,” he added, indicating Derek, “you’re in violation of the Truce. This is wolf territory. That’s grounds for war.”

Król turned his pale eyes on Derek. 

Derek tried in vain to repress a shiver, but couldn’t. All his animal instinct were screaming the same thing at him.

 _Run_.

Król smirked at Derek’s discomfort. “Indeed,” he purred. “The infamous Alpha Hale. I’ve been on his territory for months, truce or no truce.” He laughed. “I even fix his auto once, and he has no idea.”

As Derek frowned in confusion, Król‘s features seemed to shift and blur, becoming less handsome. His shoulders slumped as his body assumed an average height and build. His clothes were now an oil-stained coverall, his manner polite, if unremarkable. He seemed helpful and harmless—someone with whom Derek might have a polite conversation, then be unable to remember clearly an hour later.

Derek felt his own shoulders relax in relief as the tension drained from his limbs. There had been something he meant to do, something urgent, but he’d forgotten what it was, or why it was important. Instead, there was a pleasant buzzing in his ears, as rhythmic as the sound of the ocean. Derek felt his claws retract, his eyelids droop.

Stan spoke sharply in Polish.

The spell broke. Derek blinked and shook himself as the illusion faded and Król reappeared in his true form. 

Derek growled, his muscles bunching as he dropped to a crouch, half-shifted. 

“Wait!” he heard Stan yell.

Ignoring him, Derek launched himself at Król.

He collided with what felt like an invisible wall. There was a blinding flash of light, and he was flung backward across the clearing. He thudded against a tree trunk, shattering it, then fell heavily to earth, wracked with pain.

For a moment, Derek stared up at the night sky. Then Stan appeared above him, cigarette dangling from his lips.

“What the hell?” Derek asked weakly.

“Mountain ash, idiot.” Stan gave him a hand up. “I told you to stay behind me,” he added. 

Across the clearing, a glowing field had appeared around Król, rising up like a curtain from a circle of dark ash. The circle was twenty feet across, enclosing Król‘s spell-fire and the enormous tree behind him. Derek could see shapes traced in its sickly yellow light, shapes that shifted and swirled before his eyes like flags blowing in the wind. The uncomfortable throbbing sensation in the air increased, and the darkness outside the clearing suddenly seemed deeper and more palpable.

Behind the barrier, Król grinned, revealing strong white teeth.

“I admit, I add a little ash to my spell,” he said, “just to keep the dogs at bay.” He smirked at Derek again.

Derek felt his hair stand on end in pure rage. He flexed his claws, growling so loud his teeth vibrated, but he knew he couldn’t get beyond the barrier, and another attack would only weaken him.

Stan laid a hand on his shoulder. “Stand down,” he murmured to Derek.

“The hell with that,” Derek hissed. “Kill him already, and get Stiles out of there.” Since the moment he had entered the clearing, he’d been acutely aware of his mate’s presence, his senses automatically tracking Stiles labored heartbeat and weak breathing. To be so close and not be able to touch him made Derek want to crawl out of his own skin. 

“Stand down,” Stan murmured again. “We need to buy some time,” he added in whisper. He nodded toward the barrier. Derek saw a blue light, writhing its way around the yellow circle like a snake. Stan had cast his own spell, Derek realized, his power seeking a way in.

Stan stared at Derek, his blue eyes intense. Derek gave a stiff nod, and Stan turned back to Król. He took another drag off his cigarette and exhaled through his nose. 

“Let’s try this again, asshole. You have attacked members of my House, as well as an Alpha of the reigning wolf clan. By the laws of both peoples, witch and wolf, is within my rights to take your life.”

Król laughed harshly, his handsome features twisting. “You talk of rights. What of my rights? Where are our laws when I am cast aside and insulted? When I am shamed in front of my entire family, all my friends?”

“Embarrassment is no excuse for murder,” Stan growled through his teeth.

“No?” Król raised his eyebrow again. “In old days, your family would kill your sister yourselves to restore the honor of your House.”

“Save the crap,” Stan said in a withering tone. “No one believes that bullshit anymore, and you know it.” He took a step closer, and Derek noticed his hands were starting to glow. “My House paid handsomely to compensate for the broken contract, and yours willingly accepted payment. The matter was closed almost twenty years ago. No one but you even remembers what happened.”

Król‘s eye twitched in rage. Derek realized Stan was deliberately baiting him, and fervently prayed he knew what he was doing.

“My sister saw you for what you are,” Stan said softly. “She saw it when we were thirteen and you killed that stray dog, you remember that?” He shook his head, his expression sad. “The head of your House knew Ania had good reason to reject you. Or have you forgotten what you did to that poor Roma girl, a month before your wedding?”

Król’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You tell them,” he hissed. “I knew it.”

Stan shook his head again. “Not I. I should have,” he added, “but I didn’t. It was your cousin Jakub. He was there that night, too. I spoke to him a few days ago in Krakow, by the way. He said he still feels sick when he thinks about it. He still blames himself for not stopping you.”

Stan stepped closer again. “Zarek,” he said gently. “For the sake of our friendship, I’m willing to give you a second chance, despite what you’ve done. Release my nephew, and I’ll let you live.”

For a moment, Król hesitated. Derek held his breath. 

The circle of light around Król dimmed and flickered, sinking toward the earth. As it did, the blue fire in Stan’s hands grew, pouring out his palms like water. It splashed against the earth, then spread slowly toward the barrier. Stiles’ head shifted, lolling against the tree, and his heartbeat strengthened. 

Then Król’s chin jerked up. At the same moment, Derek heard the sound that had alerted him—a wolf’s howl, rapidly coming closer.

The wolf burst through the trees, fully shifted. For a second, he scanned the clearing, taking in the ghastly scene. Then he saw Stiles tied to the tree, and his lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl.

“Scott! Wait!” Derek tackled Scott mid-leap and bore him to the ground. Scott fought against him, shifting in agitation. He kicked out, accidentally clipping Stan on the chin. Stan fell backward, swearing a blue streak, and the light at his feet winked out.

“Let me go!” Scott bellowed. “Let me GO!”

He lunged toward the barrier again, and Derek could barely restrain him. “Dammit, Scott, hold off!”

“What’s the hell is wrong with you?” Scott demanded. “Get Stiles out of there!”

“Scott!” Derek shook him in frustration. “There’s mountain ash in the barrier. We can’t get past it,” he added more gently as Scott’s eyes widened in comprehension.

“What about him?” Scott pointed toward Stan. “Why isn’t he doing anything?”

“He’s working on it,” Derek said under his breath. “And what the hell are you doing here anyway? I ordered you to stay back.

“The hell with that!” Scott snarled. “Stiles is my brother.” He shook off Derek’s hold and clambered to his feet. “Do something!” he told Stan.

Stan glared furiously at him, rubbing his jaw where Scott had kicked him. “I was about to, until your dumb ass got here.” He jerked his chin toward the glowing circle, which had risen again to its full height, and then some.

A dry chuckle interrupted them. Derek turned and saw Król watching them with amusement.

“A good try, Stasiek,” he said. “But not enough.” His eyes flickered over Scott. “Ah,” he said contemptuously. “The wolf brother.”

Scott clenched his fists. “Let Stiles go, asshole!”

Król smiled thinly, then turned to Stan.

“You know, when I learn this one is alive,” he said, nodding toward Stiles, “for a while I feel hope. I think, maybe he is the son Ania and I should have had. Maybe I take him home with me and teach him everything he need to know.”

His faced hardened. “But I come here and watch him. For weeks I watch and I find he is just like his mother, consorting with our enemy. He is _skurwysyn_.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed, and his fists clenched. “You murdering bastard. Come here and say that.”

Król raised his knife, casually studying the curve of the blade in the firelight. “Of murder, you have no proof.”

“Bullshit.” Stan nodded toward Stiles. “He was there.”

“But I am not,” Król said. “I am in Krakow. I have witnesses.”

Stan snorted. “That just means you sent someone to do your dirty work for you. Conspiracy to commit murder is the same as murder.”

Król hummed under his breath. “Let’s ask him, shall we?” With a sudden gesture, he pointed his knife at Stiles.

Stiles head came up, so suddenly it made Derek jump. His eyes flew open, and he gasped for air. 

“Stiles!” Scott shouted. He lunged for the barrier, and again Derek had to haul him back.

Stiles’ head whipped around when he heard Scott’s voice. He stared at Derek and Scott in confusion. He tried to move toward them, but the ropes binding him to the tree held fast. 

Król strolled toward Stiles, casually twirling the knife in his hand. “Wakey, wakey,” he said, sing-song.

Stiles eyes widened in recognition and horror. His heartbeat surged as he struggled harder against the ropes.

“Stiles!” Scott fought against Derek. “Let him go!” he yelled at Król.

Derek’s muscles strained as he held Scott back. “Fucking _do_ something!” he yelled at Stan.

“I’m working on it, but--” Stan’s eyes lit up. “Hang on.” 

He frantically patted the pockets of his fatigue jacket, finally pulling out Stiles’ red spell book. He dropped to his knees and started flipping through the pages. “Just give me a second!” 

“We don’t have a second!” Derek snarled. “Just break the fucking barrier, and I’ll do the rest!”

“I said I’m fucking working on it!” Stan hissed back, still searching through the book. “He’s had months to complete his spell,” he added, nodding toward Król. “It’ll take something powerful to bring it down.” 

Derek swore under his breath, then turned to Stiles. 

“Hang on!” he called to him. “We’re going to get you out of there!”

Despite his terror, Stiles gave a minute nod, showing he understood. Then he flinched as Król twirled his knife again. “I ask questions," Król told him. "You answer. Yes?” 

“He can’t,” Scott whispered. “Derek, he can’t!”

“I know!” Derek shoved Scott behind him and approached the glowing barrier. Despite himself, he flinched at the current of raw power. If he could stand the shock and pain long enough, maybe he could make it through.

His wolf spoke: _You’ll die._

“I don’t care,” Derek muttered. “I don’t care.”

He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Wait!” Stan whispered. “I got it!” He jabbed his finger at a page in the book. “This should work.”

“ _Should_ work?” Derek hissed.

“ _Will_ work,” Stan shot back. He ran his finger down the list of ingredients, muttering under his breath. “Holy water, fire, silver…got it.” He pulled the leather cord from around his neck, then looked up. “I don’t suppose you have any dried dragon’s blood on you?”

His words gave Derek an idea. “Deaton,” he whispered back. “The local emissary,” he added when Stan looked at him in confusion. “He’s a mage. He can help—”

“The veterinarian?” Król interrupted loudly. “ _Nie, nie_. Don’t bother.” He gave an airy wave of his hand. “I already take care of him. He will not interrupt our fun.” With a sudden flourish, he placed his blade beneath Stiles’ throat. Derek heard Stiles’ sharp intake of breath. 

Król pressed the blade closer, forcing Stiles’ chin up. Stiles eyes widened, the whites showing in panic. He tried to squirm away again, but the ropes held fast. “I ask questions,” Król said again. “You answer. _Tak_?”

Stiles swallowed visibly, then nodded.

“You have seen me before, Stanisław Serafin?” Król inclined his head modestly at Stiles’ obvious confusion. “I mean, before this night?”

Stiles shook his head, his breathing ragged.

“Three years ago, the night your parents die, I was there? _Pamiętasz mnie_?”

Stiles frowned, then shook his head again.

Król leaned closer, caressing Stiles’ skin with his blade. Scott growled, and Derek clenched his fists so hard his claws dug into his skin.

“This is truth?” Król asked.

Stiles nodded frantically.

Król pointed to Stan. “Tell this man,” he ordered. 

Stiles stared at Stan. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted in puzzlement, like he was trying to remember him.

“Tell him, _skurwysyn_ ,” Król purred, “or I cut your tongue out. Tell him!” he bellowed. Stiles jumped in alarm, then opened and closed his mouth helplessly.

“He can’t!” Scott yelled. “He can’t talk!”

“Zarek, please!” Stan scrambled to his feet and strode toward the circle, palms out. “It’s true. The boy can’t speak.”

Król hesitated, cocking his head, then looked at Derek. “Wolf cannot lie,” he said. “This I know.”

Derek took a deep breath. 

“It’s true,” he said. “Stiles hasn’t spoken a word since the night his parents were murdered.”

Król raised his eyebrows. “Interesting,” he said.

He stepped back, removing the knife

Derek felt his shoulders sag in relief, then tense again Król twirled the blade. He seemed to be drawing patterns in the air, like Stan had done with his knife.

Król said something in Polish. Stiles gasped again, stiffening in shock. A flickering ring of reddish light appeared around his throat.

“Ah,” Król said. “You see?”

“Shit, yeah,” Stan murmured, stepping closer.

“Is curse, yes? To take his voice?”

Stan’s eyes sharpened. “Probably cast by your minions when they tried to kill him.” He smiled thinly. “It was the last thing they ever did.”

“You think?” Król smirked at him, then nodded toward Stiles. “Okay, we ask.”

He pointed his knife at Stiles again and spoke a single word.

Stiles’ eyes widened in panic again as the glowing light around his throat flashed brightly, then disappeared.

For a moment, Stiles choked.

His face contorted.

His throat spasmed. 

His fingers clenched and unclenched.

Then he screamed.

***  
***

 

 _skurwysyn_ = son of a whore

 _Pamiętasz mnie_ = Do you remember me?


	50. Chapter 50

It wasn’t an ordinary scream. There was no inhale, no sharp intake of breath to fuel it. 

Instead, it was like someone suddenly switched on a radio or TV at full volume—from dead silence to deafening in the space of half a heartbeat.

That was, Derek realized, exactly what had happened.

It was a scream that started the night Stiles parents were murdered. A scream that had been brutally cut off years ago—and just as abruptly resumed in the present moment.

And it went on for a very long time.

Scott stumbled back, covering his ears, and Derek felt every hair on his body stand on end. 

Finally, it was over. Stiles sagged in his bonds, shoulders heaving, blood pouring from his mouth onto the ground.

There was a long silence.

“Okay.” Stan plucked a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

After a few seconds, he crushed the cigarette in his heavy fist. 

A ball of blue flame appeared around his hand.

“Okay,” he said again, exhaling smoke. “That does it, motherfucker,”

“Get DOWN!” Derek tackled Scott to the ground, pinning him underneath his body, as blue lightning arced from Stan’s hand. 

The next few minutes were sheer hell, like being in the heart of a hurricane. Lighting crackled, thunder boomed, and searing winds tore at Derek’s clothes and hair. Tree branches cracked in the wind and crashed to the ground around them, and Derek tucked himself closer around Scott to protect him. His nose stung with the bitter, burnt electric smell he now knew was magic.

Then silence fell again.

Derek risked a peek. 

Stan knelt in the clearing, gasping for breath. Blood ran freely from a cut on his forehead, and his dark hair was singed, smoking, and standing on end. He scowled at Król.

“You’re stronger than you used to be.”

Król smirked, then nodded his chin at Stiles. “Is strong boy. And I’ve been draining his power for months.”

Stan’s scowl deepened. He opened his mouth to reply, but fell to his hands and knees, coughing helplessly. Król‘s smirk deepened, and he turned away. 

Scott scrambled out from under Derek, shoving him aside, and landed in a crouch. “We gotta get past this barrier,” he muttered.

“No shit.” Derek turned to Stan. “How—"

Stan stopped coughing and wiped his eyes. “Metal,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Spelled.”

Derek nodded toward the silver blade that was still, miraculously, clenched in Stan’s hand. “Like your knife?”

“Like my _guns_ ,” Stan growled. “The ones your idiot Betas took off me and fucking _ruined_.”

“Shit.” Scott paled. “I can fix them. I can go get them—“

“No time,” Stan rasped, looking past Scott and Derek at the tree.

The werewolves turned, and growled at the sight. Król had raised Stiles’ chin with his fingers.

“And now, we ask again,” he purred. “Have you seen me before this night?” 

Stiles mouth worked. Derek found himself holding his breath.

When Stiles spoke, his voice was lower than Derek anticipated, although weak and raspy with disuse. Something about the sound tugged at Derek, deep in his heart. But what Stiles said made him smile fiercely.

“Go fuck yourself.” Blood sprayed from Stiles’ mouth on the ‘f’ sound, hitting Król in the face.

Król’s shapely mouth thinned in annoyance. Then he pointed his knife at Scott.

Scott gasped and bent double, wheezing for air. Alarmed, Derek placed his hand on Scott’s shoulder. But there was no pain to draw, only breathlessness.

“Stop it!” Stiles croaked. He tugged at the ropes tying him to the tree. “Scott!”

Scott tried again to draw a breath, but the wheezing got worse, and he fell to his knees, clutching desperately at Derek’s arm.

“Is asthmatic, yes?” Król asked Stiles. “Before he is wolf?”

“Leave him alone!” Stiles voice broke.

“Answer questions and I stop.”

“Okay, fine! Just leave him alone!”

“As you wish.” Król lifted his knife. 

Scott collapsed forward. He drew a deep, heaving breath, then another. Derek put his arm around his shoulders until his breath steadied.

Król regarded them both with distaste. “Animals.”

“Derek…” Stiles whimpered, his eyes desperate.

“He’s all right,” Derek told him. “He’s breathing.”

Stiles closed his eyes, tears running down his face, then opened them and glared at Król.

“I never saw you before tonight,” he spat. “But I know you sent those motherfuckers who killed my family.”

Król sniffed in disdain. “Conjecture.” He glanced at Stan. “Accuse me before the high court if you wish. They can do nothing—"

“No!” Stiles interrupted. “I know because my mother recognized them.”

Król blinked.

“She said she could smell your stench on them,” Stile sneered. “She said you were a coward who was afraid to face her. A weak little bitch couldn’t finish the job himself, so he sent his lackeys.”

Stan laughed weakly. “That’s my girl.”

Król was pale with rage. “They still beat her,” he hissed. “In the end.”

“Did they?” Stiles leaned as close to Król as the ropes allowed. “Then where are they now?”

Król flinched. 

“That’s right.” Stiles’ voice got deeper, and there was a deadly glint in his eye. “Before I killed them, they begged for their lives, just like you’re going to.” 

Derek shivered, then jumped as thunder cracked overhead. Looking up, he saw storm clouds swirling around the top of the tree, greenish lightning flashing within them. 

“No,” Stan murmured. “Staś, no.”

“What the hell?” Derek hissed. “Let him fry the mother.”

Stas glared at him, and Derek remembered what he had told him:

_If you wield that kind of power without replenishing it, you can literally burn yourself out…If Staś does it again, it could kill him._

“Shit,” Derek muttered.

“This can still end peacefully,” Stan told Król. “Back off now, and we’ll let you live.”

“The hell with that,” Stiles snarled. “He should die for what he did to my parents.”

“Shut up, kid.”

“Sorry to interrupt family argument,” Król said, “But I am not scared of a little light.”

“You should be,” Stan said bluntly. “You fought the boy earlier, yes?”

“And won,” Król sniffed. 

“Barely,” Stan scoffed. “And during your little skirmish, he took out the power grid for the entire county.”

Derek blinked in surprise. He had assumed Król did that. But no, it was Stiles— _his_ Stiles, his mate. Again, Derek felt the fierce pull of pride in his gut. 

“Think about it,” Stan continued. “How do you think your men died? Unless you want to be reduced to a crispy brisket like they were.” 

“Ah, but this time, he might kill his friends, too.” With his knife, Król gestured toward the tree, then upward.

Derek followed the movement, then realized Król was right. A lightning strike would be channeled through the tree. As witches, Stiles, Stan, and Król might survive. But he and Scott…Derek honestly didn’t know if they could heal from that.

Derek met Stiles’ eyes, even as he came to the same realization.

“Do it.” Scott clenched his fists. “Do it, Stiles.”

But Stiles closed his eyes, and the lightning receded.

Król smiled. “Good boy.” 

Derek felt his claws break through as his shift erupted in him. He snarled in rage, foam dripping from his fangs. Scott shifted fully, pacing the barrier as Derek raised his head and howled for his pack.

_All Pack! Now! KILL KILL KILL!_

Distant howls rose from the forest, and Derek felt his blood quicken. No matter what happened, he vowed, he was going to sink his teeth into Król’s flesh and taste his blood.

Król raised an eyebrow, and Derek realized he’d spoken his wish out loud. 

“Goodness,” Król said mildly. “I’d better make this quick, then.”

He pulled a rag from his pocket. Crouching down, he wrapped the rag around the end of one of the seven long nails, sliding the glowing tip from the fire. He grinned at Derek, showing his teeth.

“Seven is magic number,” he crooned, “just like in stories.”

Derek wanted to scream. Instead, he turned to Stan. “Do something!” he growled. “Slow him down!”

“Your pack can’t breach that barrier,” Stan warned, still on his knees. “Even if they get here in time.”

“The hell we can’t,” Derek told him. “Now fucking do something!”

“Shit.” Stan closed his eyes. “Motherfuck.”

He took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. 

Then he opened his eyes, raised his silver knife, and drove the point deep into his palm.

Blood spurted. Stan grimaced, pushing the knife deeper, and the blade emerged through the back of his hand. Stan bent double in agony, but didn’t cry out.

Instead, he withdrew the knife and pressed his palm against the pages of the spell book, leaving a bloody handprint, and began to chant loudly in Polish.

The air crackled around him, blue lightning. The smell of blood mixed with ozone, filled the clearing until Derek could taste the metallic tang on his tongue. His scalp tingled as his hair stood on end.

Still chanting, Stan wrapped his leather cord tightly around the book, sealing it shut. 

The silver cross glinted against the leather cover. Stan pressed it to his lips, blood running down his forearms, and closed his eyes. His body rocking back and forth as he chanted.

Król sniffed in derision. “Too weak, Stasiek,” he crooned. “And far too late.”

He set his curved knife on the ground, then rose and turned, holding the nail in one hand and an iron hammer in the other.

Stiles’ eyes widened in terror. 

“Seven nails, seven times,” Król crooned. “In my marks.” He gestured to the symbols drawn on Stiles’s skin. “And then you will be dead and the rest of your power will be mine.”

Derek’s blood ran cold. 

Despite himself, Stiles cowered against the tree.

“No,” he whispered. “No, please.”

Król smiled, showing his teeth, and twirled the hammer. The barrier grew higher, and the flames in the fire leaped for the darkness above. “Vengeance is mine.”

Scott shifted back to half-human form, screaming “NO!” He dove for the barrier, struggling against Derek as he held him back.

Derek looked desperately at Stan. For a moment, the witch hesitated in his chant, meeting Derek’s gaze. 

Derek raised his eyebrows.

Stan gave a tiny shake of his head, and Derek felt his heart sink.

“Any last word?” Król asked Stiles.

Stiles stared at him. The howling of the pack grew closer, shaking the trees.

At the sound, Stiles relaxed. His body sank back against the tree trunk, and he raised his chin in pride. 

“Not to the likes of you,” he said.

He turned his eyes away, looking at Scott. 

“Scott,” he rasped. “Scotty, don’t look.”

Scott’s body shook from head to toe, and his fists opened and closed in helpless rage. “Stop!” he yelled at Król, his voice cracking. “Leave him alone! I’ll fucking kill you, motherfucker! I’ll rip the meat from your bones!”

Stiles looked at Derek, his dark eyes anguished.

“Please…” he whispered. 

Derek knew what Stiles was asking of him. He raised his own chin in reply.

“I love you.”

Stiles silently mouthed the words back.

_I love you, too._

Derek dragged Scott away from the barrier, turning his body so his back was to Stiles and Scott couldn’t see him. 

Scott screamed and fought with all his might, twisting in Derek’s arms. It took every ounce of Derek’s strength to restrain him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stan rise to his feet, the book glowing blue in his hand, as his chant rose to a shout.

But Derek knew his spell wouldn’t be strong enough. He could hear his pack howling but knew they wouldn’t get there in time.

He pressed Scott’s face against his chest and whispered into his hair.

“Close your eyes, pup. Close your eyes, and don’t listen.”

Even as Scott fought him, Derek wrapped his arm around his head to muffle his hearing. 

He heard a sizzling sound and smelled burnt flesh as Król pressed the red-hot point of the nail against Stiles’ skin.

Stiles screamed.

Derek screamed with him, curling his body further around Scott to shield him.

Thus, with his back to the fire and his eyes open, Derek was the only one who saw Alphonse Edgerton step into the clearing. 

Derek had a split second to realize Alphonse wore the uniform of a Beacon Hills deputy before he raised his service revolver and fired.

***

The shot echoed through the clearing. 

Even as Derek turned, Król’s body jerked, and he stared down in surprise at the red stain blossoming on his chest.

Alphonse fired a second time.

Król spasmed again, blood spurting, although he somehow remained on his feet.

The yellow barrier of energy flickered and drooped, clearly weakening. Stan’s eyes widened in realization, and with a shout, he hurled the book at the barrier.

Blue fire met yellow. There was a blinding flash, accompanied by a shudder of energy and a tremendous boom.

Derek had been through earthquakes in Los Angeles, had felt the earth crack and shift beneath his feet for heart-stopping minutes

This felt three times as powerful, and took half a second.

The curtain of energy fell. Stan made a sweeping motion with both hands, and Derek saw the black circle of mountain ash beneath it part suddenly, as if swept aside by a broom.

In a heartbeat, Derek leapt through the gap, shifting into his full form as he did.

To his delight, Król was still alive. His eyes widened in terror when he saw Derek coming.

His scream was abruptly cut off as Derek’s teeth closed around his throat, ripping through the flesh. Derek tasted blood as the man’s spine gave a satisfying crunch between his jaws. 

Król’s head lurched sideways like a broken doll’s, and he fell to the ground. Derek rode him down, shredding Król’s torso with his claws even as he crushed him with his weight. He eviscerated him for good measure, then threw back his head, howling again and again in triumph.

***

“--erek, come on. Derek! Enough!”

Derek blinked at Scott, then slowly returned to human form, becoming conscious of his surroundings again. He felt the heat of the fire at his back. The fire hissed and sputtered as raindrops began to fall from the sky. They felt cool and comforting as they hit his skin. The air started to freshen, the forest smelling like his own again.

“What?” Derek asked dully.

“I said that’s enough, Alpha,” Scott said, his voice gentle. He crouched at the foot of the tree with his arm around Stiles. He had cut him free of the ropes, Derek realized.

At the same time, he realized he was covered in blood. He could feel the stickiness on his face and taste it on his tongue. Król‘s remains lay behind him, but it was too late to shield Stiles from what he had done.

And Stiles was staring at him, eyes wide in horror.

“Are you okay?” Derek managed to ask.

Stiles swallowed, then nodded.

Scott let out a long breath, then settled back against his heels.

“Dude,” he said. “That was close.”

“No shit.” Turning away from Stiles in shame, Derek looked at Alphonse as the deputy stepped forward. “Nice shooting.”

“Thanks.”

Then Alphonse’s eyes widened as he looked beyond Derek.

Derek’s claws and fangs re-emerged as he swung around to face the latest threat.

Even as he did so, a distant part of his brain realized it was just Stan, staggering toward his nephew with his bleeding hand outstretched. 

“Staś,” he said. “Are you all right?”

But Derek’s wolf instincts, primed from battle, lay too close to the surface.

“Derek, no!” Scott yelled, even as Derek’s slashed at Stan’s midsection.

Fortunately, Alphonse tackled Stan, shoving him out of the way a half-inch from Derek’s claws. 

Still moving purely on instinct, Derek placed his body between Stiles and the perceived threat, pressing him against the tree while turning his head to snarl at the intruder. As he did, he gave a roar of rage that made both Scott and Alphonse cower in submission. 

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then:

“What the fuck, Hale?” Stan screeched, trying to fight his way out from under Alphonse.

Alphonse quickly regained his composure and subdued him.

“Take it easy,” he advised. “It’s not wise to get between an Alpha and his mate, especially when his blood is up.”

Stan’s face turned white with shock, then purple with rage. 

“Uh oh,” Scott said.

“I can explain,” Derek began.

Stan ignored them both. “Mate?” Still pinned under Alphonse, his arms windmilled and his eyes bulged. His voice rose to a bellow. “ **MATE?** ”


	51. Chapter 51

Derek was spared an awkward conversation by the arrival of the pack. They broke through the trees, fully shifted, then flowed into the clearing, ears back and bodies low to the ground. 

The wolves were already on edge from the smell of the blood and death in the air, and when they saw Derek in a defensive posture, they stiffened.

Their lips pulled back into snarls and their fangs gleamed in the remains of the firelight as they growled, low and long.

In another fluid motion, they fanned out, ringing the clearing to prevent escape. Their eyes burned yellow in the darkness as they crouched, preparing to attack. Their power and beauty took Derek’s breath away.

“Little help here!” Stan said sharply.

Derek’s trance broke, and he scrambled forward. “Stop!” 

The pack hesitated, lashing their tails in uncertainty.

“It’s all right,” Derek told them. “We’re safe. Don’t move,” he added to Stan and Alphonse.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Alphonse said evenly.

Derek took a step toward the pack, then pointed at the two men. “Friends,” he said. “Allies.”

The wolves, as one, cocked their heads. It would have been adorable if the situation weren’t so dire.

“It’s okay,” Derek told them. “It’s over. Threat neutralized, pack safe.” He nodded toward Król’s body, then toward Scott and Stiles, still huddled by the tree. “We’re good.” 

Isaac trotted forward, then hesitated, whimpering. 

Slowly, Derek dropped to his knees and spread his arms. “Come on, pups.”

Instantly, the pack swarmed him, snuffling his skin and wagging their tails. Derek petted them and rubbed his face against their fur, spreading his scent.

“It’s okay,” he said over and over again. “It’s okay, we’re safe. We’re all safe.”

One wolf stood apart with his tail down.

“It’s okay, Jackson,” Derek told him. “I’m home now. I’m home for good.”

Jackson darted forward, licking Derek’s face. Derek fell on his back, laughing, as the pack clambered on top of him. 

“All right, all right,” he said after a few minutes. “That’s enough.”

The pack moved on to Scott and Stiles, sniffing and nuzzling them anxiously.

Derek let out a long breath, then stood and offered a hand up to Alphonse. They both turned to help Stan as he lurched to his knees, hissing in pain.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, looking down at the knife wound in his palm. “Forgot about that.” 

Derek started forward. “I can help.

“Nah, I’m on it.” To Derek’s surprise, Stan placed his other hand over his injured palm, until both began to glow.

Derek stared in fascination. “Witches can heal?”

“Not like your kind,” Stan said with a grimace. “But enough to slow the bleeding and prevent infection until I can get some stitches.”

Another wolf leapt into the clearing, startling them, then shifted into human form.

“Derek William Hale,” Laura said, planting her hands on her hips. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“We’re all okay.” Derek felt a spurt of anxiety. “How’s Lydia?”

“She’s fine.” Laura held up a hand to calm him. “She’s resting, and Allison is guarding her.”

Laura stepped further into the clearing. Her eyebrows arched in curiosity as she saw Alphonse, and he bowed his head respectfully.

“Alpha.”

“Laura, this is Deputy Sherriff Alphonse Edgerton,” Derek said. “He just saved all our lives.” The reality of his statement overwhelmed him suddenly. He felt his breath quicken, his knees weaken.

Laura came forward and placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. He leaned into it thankfully, his body automatically calming at her touch.

“I’m grateful to you, Deputy,” she said to Alphonse. 

Alphonse inclined his head again. “It was my honor to serve the Hale Clan.”

The two of them gazed into one another’s eyes until Derek gave an awkward cough. 

“Not that I’m not grateful as well,” he said, “but I have to ask—what the hell were you doing here in the middle of the night? The Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department doesn’t regularly patrol these woods.”

Alphonse reluctantly broke eye contact with Laura. “Deaton sent me.” 

“Deaton’s alive?” Derek asked, belatedly remembering Król’s boast.

Alphonse smiled. “A little worse for wear, but yes.” 

Laura turned and looked at what was left of Król. “This is the witch?”

“Was,” Derek said with satisfaction.

Laura whistled. “That’s a real mess, little brother.”

“No shit.” Derek scratched his head. “I’m not sure how to get rid of it.” Hale land was private property, but they occasionally got a stray hiker. The last thing he needed was a human police investigation into buried bones on his property.

Stan staggered to his feet, a blue flame appearing in his palm. “Let me handle it.” 

“You sure you’re up for that?” Derek asked. Stan was clearly exhausted from the battle. He swayed on his feet, and there were dark circles under his blue eyes.

Stan nodded grimly. “I’ve got just enough magic left in me to immolate the motherfucker. Then I’m going to sleep for a week and recharge.” He eyed Derek narrowly. “And then you and I are going to have a very long talk.”

Derek felt his eyes flare red, but quickly tamped down his temper. He raised his chin. “Agreed.”

“Good.” Stan nodded stiffly. “Better stand back.” He turned to the corpse, then froze.

The pack had been sniffing at Król’s body. Now they were rolling in his blood.

It was instinct, Derek realized. As usual, his pack was following their wild impulses, reveling in their alpha’s kill. 

As he watched, Scott shifted and joined the others, growing ferociously as his dark fur became tinged with red.

Then Stiles stood, leaning against the tree for support, and walked toward the corpse. The pack stilled, watching him intently. 

Stiles stood for a long moment, looking down at the body. 

Derek felt another wave of shame and anxiety. Surely Stiles would be repulsed by Derek’s violence, even if it had saved his life. 

He stepped forward, intending to pull Stiles away from the gruesome scene. 

But before he could, Stiles crouched and dipped his fingertips in blood. Then he slowly and deliberately smeared it across his forehead and face. 

Derek heard Stan’s sharp intake of breath, felt Laura stir beside him. 

Stiles stood, turned, and looked at Derek. His gaze was fierce but steady. His expression showed no reproach, only pride. 

The wolves clustered around him. Rain fell harder from the sky, making the spell-fire sputter and washing away lingering stench of magic in the air. Even through the darkness and clouds, Derek sensed the sky lightening in pre-dawn. The long night was over, he realized—the night that had started in his childhood home, traveling a twisted, brutal journey to finally end here, in victory on his own land with his pack and his mate by his side.

Derek took a deep breath.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

***

“The son of a bitch caught me off guard,” Deaton’s voice sounded weary over the phone. “I was closing up for the night when he attacked.”

“I thought your clinic was warded against magic,” Derek said.

“It is,” Deaton said ruefully. “But Król didn’t use magic. He waited until I took the trash out to the dumpster and then hit me over the head with a brick.” 

“Ouch.” Derek winced in sympathy as he paced the front porch. A steady, soothing rain was falling, and Hale House was peaceful and silent behind him. Laura and Alphonse had driven Stan to the emergency room, and the pack was asleep in a pile on the living room floor. “Will you be all right?”

“The only permanent damage is to my pride,” Deaton admitted. “Fortunately, Deputy Edgerton saw my office lights still burning when he was on night patrol. He’s familiar enough with the town’s routine to know something was amiss, and stopped to check.”

“And you whipped up a few magic bullets?”

“I only had time to make three. Fortunately, it sounds like the Deputy has good aim.”

“But how did you know where to find us?”

“Nothing was missing from the clinic, which ruled out the possibility that the attack was a robbery,” Deaton said calmly. “That meant the motive had to do with my role as emissary. And clearly, whoever attacked me wasn’t trying to kill me, otherwise I’d be dead. They merely wanted to incapacitate me. It seemed reasonable to assume their ultimate target was Stiles. Fortunately, Stiles’ magical signature is easy to track. I figured wherever he was, the attacker would be as well.”

“Well, we owe you our lives.”

“Barely.” Deaton’s voice deepened in disgust. “The bastard had been in town for months, and I never knew it.”

“Stiles’ uncle told me Król was a master of illusion.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should have taken the attack on the trees more seriously. I should have—”

“Had you seen his kind of spell before?” Derek interrupted.

“No.”

“Then it’s not your fault.”

“You’re more generous than you should be,” Deaton replied. “I’m the territorial emissary. It’s my job to know these things, or at least figure them out.”

“You might have been able to, but Stiles withheld information. From all of us.” 

“Hmm.” Deaton’s tone was noncommittal. “Speaking of Stiles, I’d like to check him out, make sure he’s okay.”

“Later,” Derek said firmly. “He’s sleeping now. He was pretty exhausted after everything that happened.” 

Derek had carried Stiles the last quarter-mile to Hale House, his head bobbing heavily against Derek’s shoulder. Derek had to fight his instincts to take his mate away from everyone, even the members of his own pack—take him somewhere safe and wash him clean of blood and dirt and the stench of Król’s hands.

But Derek had stifled his desires. His pack needed closeness now. He deposited Stiles on the living room couch, allowing the rest of the pack to drape themselves on the floor and furniture around him. All were sound asleep within seconds. 

Derek blinked as his own exhaustion hit him, then stilled as his ears caught the sound of water running. He tilted his head to listen more closely. The sound was coming from upstairs, he realized—from his room.

“Alpha?”

Derek started. “I’m sorry,” he said to Deaton. “I didn’t catch that last bit.” 

“I said, perhaps I’ll swing by later this evening. I’d call first, of course.” 

“That’s fine,” Derek said. “And just for future reference, if I wanted to make a bullet to kill an evil witch, what would I use?”

Deaton laughed. “Silver, of course. Goodbye, Alpha Hale.”

Derek hung up, shaking his head. He eased the front door open, wincing as the hinge squeaked. But a quick glance in the living room showed him the pack still asleep, their breathing deep and even.

Derek’s keen hearing caught the tell-tale rattle of the old pipes in his bathroom as the water shut off, then the faint swish of the shower curtain being swept aside.

Derek tiptoed upstairs. The door to his bathroom was closed, and Derek knocked softly. “Stiles?”

The sounds inside ceased. After a moment, there was a sniff, followed by an audible snuffle.

“Baby, can I come in?”

Stiles voice sounded muffled. “Yeah.” 

Derek opened the door and peered inside. Stiles sat on the floor by the tub, wearing a too-large pair of Derek’s sweatpants with a towel draped over his head. Water was splashed liberally over the floor, and the mirror was covered with the steam that filled the air.

Derek opened the window to let the steam out—and to let in the gentle sound of the rain. He tossed a large bath towel on the floor in front of Stiles and sat cross-legged on it.

Then he gently peeled back the towel over Stile’s head, just enough to see his face. Stiles’ hair, face, and chest were still wet from the shower, but there was no mistaking the tears running down his face. He avoided Derek’s eyes.

“Hey,” Derek said softly.

Stiles sniffed. “Hey.”

“Everything okay in there?”

Stiles impatiently scrubbed a tear off his face. “It won’t come off,” he muttered.

“What won’t?”

Stiles gestured to his body. “His…marks.” 

Derek realized Stiles was right. The shower had washed the blood and grime from his body, but there were still faint traces of the black symbols Król had painted on his feet and hands, throat and chest. Stiles’ skin was reddened where he had scrubbed at the marks.

Derek grabbed the washcloth, still dripping wet, from the edge of clawfoot tub, then took Stiles’ hand. “Do you know what he used?”

Stiles still wouldn’t meet Derek’s eyes. “Ink and ash.” 

Derek scoffed. “That’s nothing compared to wolf spit.” He spat on the washcloth and rubbed at the mark on Stiles’ palm. When he lifted it, the mark was gone. “See?”

Stiles giggled. “My mom used to do that. She said mom spit could get anything off.”

“Margery did the same for me,” Derek said as he continued to gently scrub the marks off. “And I bet Melissa still does it to you and Scott.”

“Hell, yeah. Scott hates it. She does it to Isaac now, too.” Stiles smiled. “She even got his hair to stay down for lacrosse team pictures.”

“Of course she did.” Derek scrubbed the last mark from Stiles’ chest, wincing at the tiny round burn mark where the nail had touched his skin. “Better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Thanks.” Then he took a deep breath and started to cry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek said. He took the towel off Stiles’ head and briefly blotted his torso and hair dry. Then he tossed it aside and pulled Stiles’ into his lap. Stiles’ arms automatically snaked around Derek’s neck while his legs wrapped around his waist. Derek picked him up easily and carried him, still sobbing, to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles hiccupped as Derek laid them both down. 

Derek held him closer. “Don’t be.” 

“I was so s-s-s-scared,” Stiles sobbed into his chest. 

“So was I.” Derek buried his face in Stiles’ wet hair. “So was I. But you’re okay now. You’re safe.”

Rather than comforting, his words brought on a fresh wave of sobs. Derek could feel the hot touch of Stiles’ tears as they dripped his own neck. It made his heart ache. “Shhh,” he said helplessly. “Baby, it’s okay.”

Stiles shook his head. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

“Sweetheart.” Derek framed Stiles’ face with his hands and gently pulled his head away from his chest, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Is that why you went after Król yourself? Because you thought I wasn’t coming back?”

Stiles nodded, his lower lip trembling. “Yes-s-s-s-s.”

“But you had this.” Derek fingered the collar around Stiles’ neck. “You had my promise.”

“I know, but…I figured I was dying anyway…” 

"You got the test results," Derek said slowly as he remembered. "About the low white count. That's why you left school."

Stiles nodded, his face miserable. "I figured with that, and your family..." He flailed his hands helplessly. “We were screwed."

With a start, Derek realized how much had happened in the short time he had been gone—and how Stiles knew absolutely nothing about it.

With his thumbs, he stroked the tears from the corners of Stiles’ eyes. “Don’t worry about my family.” he said firmly. “They backed down.”

Stiles stared up at Derek, so shocked he stopped crying. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Derek felt his own heart rise at the words, and he grinned. “Yeah, I could hardly believe it myself. We can be together, and they won’t interfere.”

“You mean…” Stiles lowered his voice as if afraid to say the words out loud. “We can get married and everything?”

Feeling suddenly shy, Derek twisted the collar between his fingers. “Yeah….I mean, if you’ll still have—"

Stiles cut him off with a kiss, his mouth clumsy and eager. Derek responded in kind, tasting the salt of Stiles’ tears on his lips and adding his own to the mix. 

After a few moments of vigorous kissing, Stiles ended up on top. “How the hell…” With a smacking noise and evident relish, he added a few more fat, wet kisses to Derek’s face, then pulled back. “How the hell did you talk them down?”

Derek closed his eyes, remembering the brothel. 

_Inside the room was an enormous bed, draped in red like a bridal chamber. A collared young man, chained to the bed, knelt submissively on the floor, disappearing from view as the client closed the door behind him._

“Hey.” With his fingertips, Stiles traced the frown line between Derek’s eyebrows. “What’s wrong? Where did you go just now?” 

_Images began to flicker across the screens, video footage of a dozen different humans posing in provocative positions of sexual submission._

_Every single one was a teenage boy._

_Every single one looked like Stiles._

Derek shook his head, willing the memories away, then opened his eyes

“I’ll tell you the whole story,” he said firmly. “Tomorrow, after we get some sleep.”

Stiles frowned, tapping his fingers against Derek’s forehead. “You promise?”

“Of course.” With a sudden movement, Derek upended Stiles and dumped him on the bed. “But first, I need a quick shower.” His own body was still stained with blood, although most of it had washed off in the rain. Still, he didn’t want even the slightest remnant in their bed. He pointed a warning finger at Stiles. “Don’t go anywhere, for crying out loud.”

“Same to you.” Stiles grinned lazily up at him, lolling against the sheets and idly scratching the dark trail of hair on his lower belly. Derek’s sweatpants hung loosely on his hips, exposing more dark hair further down. The sight made Derek’s mouth water, and he felt his arousal stirring even through his exhaustion.

“Brat,” he said. Stiles’ grin grew smug and his laugher followed Derek as he stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Derek stripped off his blood-stained clothes and kicked them into a corner. He’d clean them up later. Or better yet, burn them. He stepped into the shower, pulled the curtain to, and cranked the water hard.

His showered quickly, not wanting to be away from Stiles for even a few minutes. Even so, his hand started traveling lower on his body—until another memory occurred, instantly killing his erection. 

_Peter was his father._

“Shit,” Derek muttered. 

He knew he had to tell Stiles the truth. He knew it in his bones.

But, selfishly, he wanted to wait. 

He had just gotten his mate back from certain death at the hands of a vengeful madman, Derek reasoned—and that after being cruelly torn apart by his family. Before that, Stiles had been ill for months—dying, even—while no-one else had realized the severity of it. And then he had finally confronted the man who had murdered his parents. How would another shock affect him after everything else that had happened? 

Surely Derek and Stiles deserved to den up together in peace for a while, didn’t they? Waiting another twenty-four hours to tell Stiles the truth wouldn’t matter, not when they were going to spend a lifetime together. Would it? (If, God willing, Stiles still wanted him after he found out the truth.) 

Irritated, Derek turned off the water and quickly toweled himself dry. He gave a cursory wipe-down of all the wet surfaces in the bathroom, then dumped the towels in the hamper. 

When he re-entered the bedroom, Stiles was exactly as Derek had left him, sprawled on the bed with one hand resting on his happy trail. Only now he was fast asleep and snoring softly. 

Still, he instinctively rolled toward Derek when he climbed in the bed with him. He murmured sleepily as Derek impatiently jerked the sweatpants off him and pulled him close—his wolf needed as much skin-to-skin contact with his mate as he could get. Stiles must have felt the same way, because he gave a contented groan as their naked bodies came together. They ended up in their usual position—Stiles with his head pillowed on Derek’s chest, with Derek’s arms wrapped securely around him and their legs entangled. 

Derek pulled the sheet over them, kissed Stiles’ hair, and despite his troubled thoughts, was instantly lulled to sleep by the gentle song of the rain outside and the feel of his mate in his arms.

***

Derek wasn’t sure how long they slept. And even as he did, his senses were aware of the soothing sounds of the house—the creak of the floors settling, the wind in the trees outside, the occasional movement of his pack members as they slept. (At some point, at least one couple went off to their room and celebrated their pack’s victory in another traditional manner.)

Eventually, his senses registered another sound: A car on the driveway, but a familiar one. Footsteps on the gravel, but familiar ones.

His wolf knew this person was pack, not threat, so he slept on. Until other footsteps joined in, and then other voices, male and female, and then footsteps _and_ voices coming up the stairs, voices raised in argument.

“—ridiculous! Derek would never—"

“Keep telling yourself that, lady.”

“First of all, don’t call me—"

A third voice, smooth and amused. “—willing to get your arm ripped off?”

The male voice: “I’ll risk it.” Then a heavy pounding on the door, startling Derek into full consciousness.

“GOD-DAMMIT, HALE!” Stan bellowed. “GET YOUR FILTHY PAWS OFF MY UNDERAGE NEPHEW!”

Then the door handle turning—shit, the door handle was turning! (Why the fuck hadn’t Derek locked the fucking door?)

As the door flew open, Stiles woke and sat bolt upright in bed. He held the sheets bunched around him but was obviously naked, and his hair stuck up at a dozen angles from being slept on when wet. He gave a tremendous yawn, blinking sleepily. 

“First of all," he said to his uncle, "nobody enters the alpha’s den without permission. Second of all—"

Stiles broke off as Stan was shoved aside and another figure took his place in the doorway. A figure who stared in horror at the clearly intimate scene in front of her, while Stiles stared in horror back.

Melissa McCall.

“Oh, _crap_!” Derek said.


	52. Chapter 52

_Sorry this chapter is so short! The next one is already in the hopper, plus I’m going on vacation this week so I’ll be able to get lots of writing done. The next update will happen much sooner. Thanks so much for your patience and support!_

***

Derek remembered seeing pictures of the Signing of the Truce in history books.

The occasion was photographed for posterity with the various parties—hunters, witches, and wolves—seated around a large table, turned to face the camera. The leaders of each species held pens, having just signed the document at hand. The Mages who had brokered the treaty presided over the scene holding the large paper scroll whereon the terms of the Truce were painstakingly printed. 

The postures of the group were stiff, their faces stern, befitting the solemnity of the gathering, which had marked the cessation of centuries of bloody conflict. Technology had not yet been adapted to magic, so the eyes of the wolves in the photograph showed camera flare, while a ribbon of electricity arched over the witches, blurring the background. 

Derek thought his current situation was the closest anyone would ever come to recreating that momentous occasion: Wolves, witches, and humans sat around his table, and none of them were happy.

They were seated in the formal dining room, a room into which Derek had not yet set a single paw since moving in to Hale House. It had been the last room to be repainted, as well, and the paint cans, tarps, and ladders were still stacked neatly in one corner. The walls were now a cool gray with neat white trim, the curtains lengths of raw, silver silk hung over simple linen panels. The color scheme had been Lydia’s idea, based on the portrait of Derek’s great-great aunt Margaret-Maude Hale (dressed in a dove-gray gown accented with pearls) that hung over the fireplace. The overall effect was soothing yet elegant. 

Likewise, Margaret-Maude’s bone china tea set had been unearthed from the formal break-front and placed around the table. Fragrant steam rose from the pot and from each cup, swirling delicately toward the ceiling, but none of the parley participants had taken a single sip. 

The air crackled with tension—literally in Stan’s case, since the witch seemed to share his nephew’s tendency to light up a room when angry. Laura, not used to the uneasy feel of magic in the air, sat vibrating in her chair, torn between the instinct to attack and the deeper instinct to run. Meanwhile, Melissa sat sniffling and dabbing angry tears from her eyes with the crumpled-up tissue clutched in her trembling fingers. Only Deaton the Mage looked calm, presiding over the gathering with his usual aura of serene affability.

Still, as awkward as the silence was, Derek preferred it to the previous hour, which had included scenes of pure chaos mixed with—he winced at the memory—lots of high-pitched screaming.

Melissa McCall had descended on his bedroom like the wrath of God...

***

_Earlier..._

Shrieking incoherently, Melissa beat at Derek with her purse, Laura and Stan ducking for cover as its contents went flying around the room.

Likewise shrieking, Stiles grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around himself. This (fortunately) covered his nakedness, but (unfortunately) uncovered Derek’s.

Melissa’s eyes widened further at the sight and her voice rose yet another octave. Unsatisfied with her purse as a weapon, she flung it aside and reached for a stray lacrosse stick leaning in the corner. Derek dove into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Thank God, there was a lock. Derek twisted it shut just as the stick shattered against the door.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he bellowed.

“Not what it looks like?” Frustrated with the stick’s breakage, Melissa began hurling her body against the door.

“Not!”

THUD!

“What!”

THUD!

“It!”

THUD!

“LOOKS LIKE?”

THUD!

“It’s not!” Derek heard Stiles say. “We weren’t having sex!”

“Right.” Even from behind the door, the level of sarcasm in her voice made Derek cringe. “You were just naked in the same bed—"

“Not having sex, I swear!”

Melissa’s voice became quiet and steely. Somehow that frightened Derek even more. “Get dressed, Stiles. Right now.”

“Not until you—Ow! Quit it!”

Derek frantically dragged his jeans from the hamper and scrambled into them, emerging from the bathroom zipping them up. Stiles was in a similar posture, but hopping on one foot as he pulled up Derek’s sweatpants, hampered by the fact that Melissa had a firm grip on his ear.

“Ow!” Stiles complained, his fingers fumbling with the draw-strings of the sweatpants. “Just give me a second to—OW!” He managed to tie the strings, but even so, the too-large pants threatened to slide off his hips.

Derek saw the moment when Melissa realized the sweats were his, not Stiles’: Her eyes widened, then narrowed.

Stiles looked down at the sagging waistband. “Oh, shit.”

Derek held out his hands, trying to look as non-threatening—and non-sexual—as possible. “I know it looks bad, but I can explain. I swear.”

“Explain it to law enforcement,” Melissa hissed. She snatched up her purse, tightened her grip on Stiles’ ear, and dragged him through the doorway. Laura and Stan fell back in alarm at her approach. Derek couldn’t blame them.

He shoved past them as well, half-falling into the hallway just as Scott and Allison appeared from their bedroom down the corridor. Scott was wearing nothing but boxer briefs, while Alison held a sheet wrapped tightly around her. (Apparently they had been the couple celebrating the pack’s win the old-fashioned way.)

“Mom!” Scott said. “What’s going—oh, crap,” he added as Melissa gaped at him, then at Alison (who gave her a feeble little wave), then back at him.

“Um,” Scott said, his tone hopeful. “We used condoms?”

Melissa pounced, grabbing his ear and dragging him down the stairs along with Stiles, both of them protesting loudly. At the foot, they were met by the rest of the pack, spilling from the living room. Alarmed by the commotion, they were sleepy and unkempt and—oh, dammit, Derek realized—still festooned with dried blood from their victory celebration.

Melissa took one (horrified) look at them, then hustled Scott and Stiles, still protesting, out the door. “I’m calling all your parents!” she yelled as the door slammed behind them.

The pack looked up at Derek, who stood staring at the door for a full five seconds. 

Five.

He could feel Laura’s touch on his shoulder, trying to steady and comfort, but shrugged it off.

Four.

He could hear her voice, but it sounded muffled and far-away.

Three.

“Derek, let them go. We’ll find another way.”

Two.

“Derek, don’t do it. Derek!”

One.

Derek roared. His Alpha instincts, still close to the surface after the previous night’s battle, kicked in. He felt his fangs and claws erupting as he leapt the full length of the staircase. Someone was trying to take his mate away by force—AGAIN—and he wouldn’t stand for it.

He ripped the door off its hinges, leapt onto the porch railing, and launched himself into the air. When he hit the ground, he somersaulted, rolled, twisted, and came up positioned between Melissa and her car. He rose to a crouch, spreading his claws wide, and roared again.

Melissa went pale with fear, but she bravely pushed both boys behind her.

“Get out of my way, Derek.”

Derek showed his fangs and growled, low and long.

“Derek!” Laura hurried toward him, then, to his chagrin, smacked him across the nose with the flat of her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Melissa. “He really was raised better than this.”

Snarling, Derek picked her up by the waist and set her aside.

“Derek!” Laura scolded. “Behave!”

“I’ve got this.” Stan stepped between Derek and Melissa, and leveled a gun at him. Derek blinked in surprise. He thought Scott had ruined all Stan’s weapons.

“Pawn shop,” Stan said, anticipating Derek’s question. “I felt naked without one. No wolfsbane, but I doubt even you would survive a bullet to the head.” 

He cocked the gun. The pack tensed.

“STOP IT! ALL OF YOU!” Evading Melissa’s frantic grab, Stiles pushed his way past his uncle and planted himself in front of Derek.

“Stiles, move!” Derek ordered.

“No.”

“Staś.” Stan tightened his grip on the gun. “Move out of the way.”

“No!” Stiles slung his arm around Derek’s neck. “Derek and I are dating,” he announced. “We’re not having sex, but we sleep together at night. That’s all that happened, I swear to God.”

“You son of a bitch,” Stan hissed at Derek. “So this is why you wanted a human in your pack. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow you to kingdom come.” 

“Are you listening to me?” Stiles voice cracked in frustration. “I said we’re dating. As in consensual!”

“No such thing,” Stan snapped. “You’re a minor, he's an adult. That means statutory.”

“We haven’t had sex!” Stiles yelled. 

“Hold on,” Stan said. He stepped closer, still leveling the gun. Derek realized Stan was staring at Stiles’ neck, where the collar lay against his bare throat. “Is that what I think it is?”

Stiles raised his chin proudly. “Hell, yes.”

Stan growled, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

“What is it?” Melissa asked, her eyes darting between them in confusion.

“A collar,” Stan spoke through gritted teeth. “Like he was a dog.”

“Mom, it’s okay,” Scott said quickly. “It’s a wolf thing. It means they’re together.” 

Derek flinched as Melissa stared at Scott for a long moment. When she spoke her voice was quiet and dangerous again. “Together. For how long?”

Scott squirmed under his mother’s gaze. “A while,” he said finally.

“A while. And you knew about this?”

“Well, yeah, we all did.” Scott nodded to the rest of the pack, who had followed them out of the house and were watching the confrontation, wide-eyed and anxious. He gestured toward the collar. “Stiles and Derek are engaged. The collar makes it official.” 

Derek cringed again as Melissa raised her eyebrows. He didn’t think her voice could become still drier and more scathing, but somehow it did. “Engaged.”

Scott folded his arms across his bare chest in a vain attempt to regain his dignity while wearing nothing but his underwear. “Like I said, it’s a wolf thing. They’re, like, mates now. Forever. Just like me and Allison.”

Melissa blinked at him, then turned and marched past Stan.

“Put that damn gun away!” she snapped. He blinked in surprise, but obeyed.

Melissa planted both fists on her hips and glared at Derek.

“I trusted you,” she said fiercely. “I trusted you with both my boys, with these kids, and you—“ She broke off. “You’re a predator, Derek Hale. You find a single mom, overwhelmed, and offer to help and then you isolate the kids, grooming them—"

Peter, Derek thought numbly. She thinks I’m like Peter. A sinking feeling came over him, a feeling of bone-deep shame.

“Mom!” Scott said in horror. “It’s not like that!”

“It’s not!” Stiles said. He put his hand over his heart. “I love him.”

Melissa pressed her hand together as tears sprung into her eyes. “Oh, sweetie. I know you think you do. But this isn’t love.”

“Yes, it is!” Stiles stepped closer. “Melissa…” Tears came into his eyes, as well, and his voice became pleading. “Mom. You know I would never lie to you.”

Melissa smiled sadly at him through her own tears. “Stiles, honey, you lie to me all the time.”

“Not about this!” Stiles insisted. “Not about something important. Derek would never hurt me, ever. Please, you have to believe me!” 

Of course he was like Peter, Derek told himself. He was poison—toxic—just like Malcom had said. Like father, like son. 

“No!” Derek blinked as Stiles interrupted his inner tirade, cradling Derek’s face in his hands. “Look at me,” Stiles ordered.

Derek stared blankly at him.

“You are not Peter,” Stiles said firmly. “Are you listening to me? You are nothing like him, not in a million years, okay? So don’t you dare do that to yourself.”

“Who is Peter?” Stan asked, bewildered. “What’s going on?”

Scott stepped forward, frowning. “Derek’s uncle. He was Alpha before. He…” His voice trailed off as his eyes went to Stiles. “Bro. What happened with Peter?”

Stiles didn’t look at him. “Nothing happened.”

“You’re lying.” Scott took a step closer, and his voice rose. “Did Peter do something to you?”

Stiles closed his eyes. “Scott…”

Derek remembered suddenly, remembered that Scott didn’t know what Peter had done. No one did, except Derek. Stiles hadn’t told anyone else, because Peter had threatened to kill Melissa if he did.

Derek closed his eyes, too, then opened them and gently pushed Stiles away.

“You should go.”

“Bullshit.” Stiles voice was raspy. He probably shouldn’t be talking this much so soon after getting his voice back, Derek thought with another pang of guilt. He should be resting somewhere safe. It would be better for him—everything would be better for him—away from Derek.

“Go,” he ordered. “Go with Melissa.”

“No! I’m not leaving you!”

“Stiles.” Melissa put a hand on his arm. “Just come home with me, and we’ll talk.”

“This IS my home!” Stiles clutched at his hair in frustration. “Jesus, I’m finally talking and no one is fucking LISTENING to me!”

Derek felt a surge of electricity crackle through the air. The pack felt it, too, and shifted uneasily. The trees rustled overhead, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

He remembered Stan’s warning—that using too much magic without replenishing it might kill Stiles. Stan obviously had the same thought, because his voice became soothing as he reached for Stiles.

“Staś. Stanisław. Just calm down.” 

“Don’t touch me!” Stiles slapped his hand away. Electricity crackled again. “You think you can just show up again, after all these years, and expect me to trust you?”

Stan scowled. “Hey, buddy, just remember who saved your life last night.”

Enraged, Stile went chest-to-chest with his uncle. “My PACK saved me!” he yelled. “Not you!” He poked Stan in the sternum, hard enough to make him flinch. “And where were you when my mom needed you, huh? They night they killed her, and my dad? Where were you THEN?”

Stan stepped back in shock, his face bone-white. There was a sudden, stunned silence in the clearing.

This was followed by a muted roar, rapidly growing louder. It wasn’t a wolf’s roar, though. This one was mechanical, a powerful vibration. 

The source became clear seconds later when Deaton cruised up the driveway on, all of all things, a Harley Davidson. The silence returned as he killed the engine and removed his helmet. He surveyed the tense scene on the front yard with his general air of unflappability, and when he spoke his voice was as smooth and soothing as honey.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”


	53. Chapter 53

Derek felt a headache throbbing behind his eyes, no doubt the result of the tension at the dining room table. He pinched his eyebrows between his fingers, until glimpse of movement outside the window caught his attention.

Scott and Stiles, now both fully dressed, were pacing the perimeter of the yard. Scott had his arm slung around Stiles’ shoulders in a comforting gesture.

Melissa followed Derek’s gaze, and her angry expression softened at the sight of her boys.

“You’re sure Stiles will be okay now that the spell is broken?” she asked Deaton, twisting the tissue in her hands.

Deaton looked at Stan, who cleared his throat. 

“He needs rest and healing,” he said. “But he should recover.” He looked like he was about to say more, but sipped his tea instead, the delicate rose-patterned tea cup looking ridiculously small and fragile in his large hand.

“Stiles’ muscles need to build back their strength after years of disuse,” Deaton put in. “I’d recommend he see a physical therapist or a speech pathologist. And in the meantime, not speak very much.”

“Good luck with that.” Melissa gave a fond smile. “Stiles always was such a chatterbox when he was little.” Her expression became mournful again. “I didn’t even say anything to him about it, about the fact that he can talk again.”

Like Derek, Melissa rubbed her eyes tiredly. Derek realized she must be exhausted. She had worked the early shift in the Emergency Room, which is where she ran into Laura and Alphonse when they brought Stan in to have his hand sewn up. Laura had told her the whole story of Król kidnapping Stiles and the subsequent rescue, which is why Melissa had insisted on hitching a ride back to Hale House with Laura and Stan.

_"You couldn’t have given me a heads-up that she was coming?” Derek hissed to Laura in the kitchen where they were brewing the ceremonial tea._

_Laura actually blushed. “I was distracted. Besides, it’s not my fault you can’t keep it in your fur.”_

Derek winced at the memory. He heard the squeak of the water pipes upstairs, where the pack were taking turns showering off the blood and grit of the night’s battle, and winced again, this time for his water bill. He took a sip of tea to calm his nerves, then spit it out when he realized Melissa was glowering at him.

“How long has this been going on?”

Derek dabbed tea off his beard with his shirt sleeve, ignoring Laura’s scandalized glance. “This…”

“This thing with Stiles,” Melissa waved her hand, her lips pinched in disapproval.

“Almost since the beginning. I mean, not physically,” Derek hastened to add when Melissa’s eyes widened. “Stiles and I just…recognized something in each other.”

He looked helplessly at Deaton, who smoothly stepped in.

“Werewolves have a strong mating urge.”

“Not helping, Doctor,” Derek muttered through his teeth.

“Mmm.” Deaton sipped his tea with maddening calm. “What I mean is, it’s what we humans would call love at first sight. A powerful sense of connection, instantly recognizable to both parties.”

“Staś isn’t a werewolf,” Stan growled. “He’s a witch.”

Deaton tilted his head to the side. “Half witch. And there’s no reason why witches, wolves, and even hunters can’t fall in love.” He glanced at Melissa.

“Scott and Allison,” she murmured.

Deaton smiled. “Love doesn’t recognize species.”

“So you say,” Stan countered. He turned to Derek, and his voice became sarcastic. “So, you met Staś, and it was love at first sight. How romantic. And now you’re _engaged_?” His long fingers made air quotes. “To a seventeen-year-old boy. And don’t tell me love doesn’t recognize age,” he snapped at Deaton, “because it’s bullshit.”

“It’s different for wolves,” Derek snarled.

“How convenient for you,” Stan spat.

“It is,” Laura insisted.

“I thought you people had arranged marriages,” Stan sneered at her. “Not love matches.”

Laura shot him an icy glare, reminding Derek vividly of their mother Kara. “Consent is required. Unlike witch folk, our kind does not force anyone to marry against their will.” Laura blushed slightly at her own words and glanced apologetically at Derek. 

Stan blushed as well, but with anger. “Oh, really? Well, in _our_ world, a child cannot consent to any relationship—”

“Wasn’t your sister supposed to be married off at sixteen?” Derek interrupted. “To a boy older than she was, a boy she despised?”

Stan’s face flushed a deeper red. “Older by only two years, and one of Ania’s own kind. She didn’t have a collar put around her neck like a fucking dog.”

Laura half-rose in her seat, enraged. “That collar has been in our family for generations! It is an honor to be presented with it! Stiles knows this. He understands our ways.”

While Derek blinked in surprise at Laura, Deaton discreetly cleared his throat. “It’s true,” he told Stan. “A collar is a traditional courting gift. The circular nature signifies the unending bond between a mated pair. Similar to an engagement or wedding ring in human culture.”

He held up his hand, forestalling Stan’s angry response. “And it cannot be given without the consent of the betrothed. Stiles has not been forced into anything against his will. Likewise, Stiles asked to be a formally recognized as a member of the Beaton Hills Pack, and the Hale Clan, willingly joining the wolf people through the Claiming Ceremony.”

“Claiming…wait a minute, isn’t that what you people mean by biting?” Stan scowled at Derek. “You said you didn’t turn him!” 

Once again, Deaton intervened. “My apologies,” he said. “I should clarify. There are three different bites, each with its own intent.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “The first is the Turning Bite, which turns a human into a werewolf. Melissa’s son Scott became a wolf through such a bite.”

Stan glanced at Melissa. “My condolences.” 

Melissa set her teacup in the saucer with a sharp clink, and her voice became brittle. “He’s not dead.”

“Indeed.” Deaton continued blithely, as if unaware of the tension in the room. “As a matter of fact, besides imparting enhanced strength and sensory abilities, the Turning Bite can have salutary effect. In Scott’s case, it cured his asthma; in Erica’s, her epilepsy. Then there is the Mating Bite, traditionally given after marriage. Among other things, it confers legitimacy on the offspring of the union. Finally, there is the Claiming Bite, in which an Alpha creates his or her own pack by biting each of the members. Both Laura and Derek gained their personal packs through the Claiming Ceremony, which cements the bonds between pack members.”

“How?” Stan demanded.

Deaton’s face and tone remained bland. “Chemistry. Each bite secretes certain chemicals that have a profound effect on the subject.”

“Like sprouting fangs and whiskers?”

“In the case of the Turning Bite, yes.”

“Does it work both ways?” Derek asked abruptly.

Deaton tilted his head again. “What do you mean, Alpha?”

“A family member recently administered diluted wolfsbane to me,” he explained. “I was, uh, agitated and they thought it would help me relax. Instead, I almost died.” Derek felt a chill at the memory. “My mother said they used to give it to me when I was a pup, as a sedative.” Derek glanced at Laura, who looked pained. “But it never had any ill effect until now. The healer my parents consulted said my chemical signature had changed.”

Deaton’s eyes sharpened with interest. “So you developed an allergy after your body chemistry was altered through the Claiming Ceremony. Is that common?”

Derek looked at Laura, who shook her head. “There are twenty-eight wolves in my pack,” she said, “and I never noticed any such changes after making my Claims.”

“But when the chemical mix includes a human, and a magical one at that, who knows what could happen?” Deaton stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Has Stiles noticed any differences?” he asked Derek.

“He can sense where I am and what I’m feeling, just like I can with him.”

Deaton looked practically giddy with interest. “Yes, you mentioned that when we spoke before. It’s fascinating. It’s been so long since humans and wolves interacted, there’s almost no data on the subject. But it makes sense that both parties would be altered in some way, even if one is half-human. It will be interesting to see if there are further developments after you and Stiles consummate—"

“Doctor,” Laura interrupted loudly as both Melissa and Stan choked on their tea. “I believe you were explaining wolf customs to our guests.”

Deaton cleared his throat. “Forgive me,” he said. “In all these matters,” he concluded, “consent is crucial. All the members of Derek’s pack consented to the Turning Bite, with the exception of Scott, of course.” 

Deaton inclined his head toward Melissa.

“Likewise, all members consented to the Claiming Bite—even Stiles. That Claim makes him a full member of both Derek’s pack and the Hale Clan. And when Derek offered his suit, Stiles accepted. Granted, it is problematic for humans given the age difference.”

Now Deaton included both Melissa and Stan in his gaze. “However, their engagement is considered binding in were law.”

Derek sent a sharp look at Deaton. The emissary knew of Derek’s previous engagement to Kate. Surely he was aware of the opposition Derek’s parents felt towards his relationship with Stiles. 

If so, Deaton chose not to mention it, and Derek felt a surge of gratitude toward him.

“The engagement also confers a considerable amount of status upon Stiles,” Deaton continued. He smiled slightly. “Perhaps I’m biased, but I believe that it is a status he has earned, many times over, through his courage, his devotion, his intelligence, and his willingness to sacrifice for others.”

Derek felt himself sitting taller in his chair, pride spreading through him. He could feel his wolf preening.

Stan ruined it, of course. “Great. Sounds like the Wizard of Oz.” He scowled at Derek again. “But weres are forbidden to bite anyone who’s not their own kind. Those were the terms of the Truce.”

Deaton looked slightly pained at the latest interruption—or perhaps it was just his head injury. A bruise the size of a goose egg stood out on the back of his bald head from where Król had clocked him. Melissa had insisted on icing it with a bag of frozen peas while the tea brewed, then dug through her purse for Ibuprofen and watched sternly until Deaton swallowed it.

Now he held up his cup and turned to Laura. “More tea, if you please, Alpha.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Derek flinched as Laura rose and refilled everyone’s cups. By rights, as Alpha of the territory, he should be the one providing food and drink, with his mate presiding at table. That’s what his mother did at home, albeit with a dozen servants to assist her. In Derek’s house, that honor belonged to Stiles. Deaton knew it, and Derek knew he knew it.

A low rumble built in his chest.

“Cream and sugar, Derek?” Laura asked loudly.

Derek blinked at her, and she shot him a stern look. 

“No, thank you,” he said. Of course, Deaton was right. To bring Stiles into the room right now would be imprudent, given that he was the subject of the heated discussion. (Not to mention, Stiles was royally pissed off that the adults were talking about _his_ life and _his_ choices without him, which was why Scott was giving him the calming walk in the first place.) 

In Stiles’ absence, Deaton had done the next best thing, which was to defer to Laura as the highest-ranking Alpha present. It was the right choice; still, Derek glowered at him as he drank his tea.

The Emissary murmured his thanks to Laura, then turned to Stan. “Of course, you are correct. The Truce barred such contact between weres and other races, just as it banned the use of enchantments by witches against hunters and wolves.”

Stan looked annoyed at the reference, and Derek smirked.

“However,” Deaton continued, “the circumstances in this particular territory are quite unusual; one might even say, extraordinary. To begin with…”

As Deaton droned on, Derek found his mind wandering. He automatically checked in with pack members, relieved when he sensed that their heartbeats were steady, their emotions calm. The primary sense he got from them was a collective hunger. Rustling noises from the other end of the house confirmed that several were raiding the kitchen.

His eyes drifted to the portrait Margaret-Maude. The considerably older sister of Joachim Hale, she was known in the family for her eccentricities. (Derek didn’t know quite what the alleged eccentricities were, but he could still see the narrow line of his mother’s lips when she uttered the word.) Among other things, she had never mated nor whelped, and preferred the seclusion of Beacon Hills to her younger sibling’s bustling trade empire along the California coast. However, she did enjoy the luxuries of her clan’s wealth and position, ordering the finest china, silver, furniture, and fabrics from abroad. In her portrait, she was resplendent in a gray silk gown, the cap on her head and shawl over her shoulders knitted in intricate lace.

With a start, Derek realized the artist had included Margaret-Maude’s wolf ears in the portrait, the tips just peeking out from underneath the snow-white lace of her cap. Likewise, the hint of a tail was barely visible behind the stiff bustle of her gown. Her hazel eyes seemed to twinkle at him, as if they were sharing a secret joke.

Derek’s heart lifted a little at the sight. Perhaps he wasn’t the only Hale who was considered a little too wild. Perhaps his most troublesome characteristics didn’t all originate with Peter.

A sharp kick to his ankle, courtesy of Laura, brought his attention forcibly back to the discussion.

“Which is why,” Deaton was saying, “Derek sought my counsel immediately when he realized his feelings for Stiles. Isn’t that correct, Alpha?”

Derek hastily cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s correct.” With another chill, he remembered their conversation that rainy night, the anniversary of the attack that killed Stiles’ parents.

“I advised Alpha Hale to wait a year,” Deaton continued, “until Stiles was of age in terms of human law, before moving forward with a physical relationship.” Deaton gazed sternly at Derek. “I certainly wasn’t expecting a formal engagement so soon.”

Laura gave a delicate cough. “That was our family’s doing,” she said. “Our parents put a lot of pressure on us to marry young.” 

Derek shot her a surprised but a grateful look, again thankful neither she nor Deaton had mentioned the debacle with Kate.

“Oh, please,” Melissa snorted. When everyone at the table looked at her in shock, she rolled her eyes. “I’ve known Stiles since he was born. When he sets his sights on something, he’s relentless.” She looked at Stan. “Anna was the same way, right?”

Stan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” Melissa rolled her eyes again. “The woman was like a freight train once she made up her mind. And she was head-over-heels crazy in love with John.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re okay with this,” Stan snapped at Melissa.

She raised her eyebrows at him in a haughty gesture worthy of a Hale. “I am Stiles’ legal guardian. As such, I am responsible for—”

“Temporary guardian.”

Melissa’s eyes widened, and the air grew so frosty the china teacups trembled. “Excuse me?”

“The court appointed you as guardian only because Staś had no living relatives in the area.” Stan spread his arms wide. “Well, surprise! Here I am: A full-blooded family member. If I challenge you in court for custody—”

“Are you kidding?” Melissa gasped. “You would do that?”

Stan leaned forward. “You damn betcha I would. And blood kin beats any legal tie you might have.” His glare included everyone at the table. “Don’t set yourself against my House, any of you. You’ll regret it.”

Laura bristled. “Emissary, I object! No member of the Hale Clan can be removed from this territory without the permission of our Alpha.”

“Noted,” Deaton said. “Officer Serafin, I understand your protective urge, but I would advise against such a course of action. Especially if you hope to have a positive relationship with your nephew.”

“I don’t give a crap about the quality of our relationship,” Stan snapped. “I just want him safe.”

“He is safe!” Derek snarled. “It was one of your people who tried to kill him, not ours!” But his conscience pricked him. Stiles had been in danger from plenty of wolves: Peter. Alec. Kate.

“Alpha Hale makes a fair point,” Deaton said. He turned to Stan. “And as I explained, Stiles has chosen to become a member—"

Stan shoved back his chair and stood. “You told us he was _dead_!” he bellowed at Deaton. “You and your stupid bunch of meddling motherfucking magical _ass_ hole…” He sputtered to a stop, waving his hands in the air in a gesture that reminded Derek vividly of Stiles. Then he took a deep breath, ran his hands through his thick dark hair until it stood on end, and started over. His words were clipped and precise, and his blue eyes blazed with anger.

“A witch-child watched his parents be brutally murdered. He managed to summon enough power to kill the attackers, but was hit with a powerful counter-spell. And the only people who would have _understood_ what he was going through, the only people who could have _helped_ him, were deliberately kept in the dark.” 

Stan broke off abruptly and rested his fists heavily on the tabletop, his shoulders trembling. To his surprise, Derek caught the salty smell of tears, along with a strong wave of emotion—mingled grief and rage, but mostly bone-deep guilt.

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Then Stan cleared his throat.

“I apologize for my outburst, Emissary,” he said stiffly, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. “I formally request a recess, so that I may consult with the Head of my House.”

“I think that’s wise,” Deaton said gently. He glanced around the table, assessing the reaction of the others. Laura and Melissa both nodded, while Derek scowled.

“I formally declare a recess to this parley. We shall reconvene at a later time agreed upon by all parties.” Deaton turned to Laura and inclined his head. “Alpha Hale, we are honored by your hospitality.”

“The honor is ours, Doctor.”

Ignoring the pleasantries, Stan strode from the room, the front door slamming in his wake a few seconds later. 

Derek let out a deep breath and shoved back his chair. He was about to follow Stan outside when Melissa spoke.

“I want to talk to Derek. Alone.”

Derek felt his heart sink. He glanced at Deaton, who gave a cheerful smile, even as he threw Derek to the hunters.

“I think that’s an excellent suggestion, Mrs. McCall.”

Derek sank back in his chair, his headache increasing. Deaton pulled out his cell phone. 

“If you don’t mind, Alpha, I’d like to brief my superiors.” 

“Of course,” Laura said. Deaton gave a respectful nod, then walked out. 

Laura followed suit, pausing to rest her hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m calling legal,” she murmured to him. “He hasn’t got a case,” she added when Derek looked up at her in alarm. “I just want to head him off at the pass.”

“Thanks,” Derek whispered, trying to fight down his panic. Laura squeezed his shoulder and left the room. Derek could hear her in the hall, her tone crisp as she commanded her smartphone to dial her office, then began issuing orders to her assistant in L.A. Her voice became muffled as the office door closed firmly behind her. 

Derek heard the low growl of Deaton’s motorcycle revving, then a rumble as it disappeared down the road—no doubt the mage preferred to hold his conversation out of earshot of prying werewolves.

In the silence that followed, Derek reluctantly turned his attention back to Melissa. She sat opposite him at the other end of the table, her arms folded, her dark eyes stern. 

Derek nervously ran a finger around the collar of his shirt. The soft Henley suddenly felt too tight around his neck, and the ticking of the Faberge clock on the mantelpiece seemed unbearably loud. 

Derek cleared his throat. “Can I offer you more tea?”

Melissa cut him off. “Don’t get me wrong, Derek, I’m not happy about this.”

“No, ma’am,” Derek said meekly. His hands were sweaty, and he set the teapot down for fear of breaking it.

Melissa let out a breath and drummed her fingertips on the table. “I’m not happy,” she said finally. “But it sounds like you tried to do the right thing. You tried to put the brakes on.”

Derek felt a rush of relief. “I did, I truly did,” he said. “But Stiles can be…” He scratched his head, trying to come up with the right word.

Melissa smiled “Like I said, relentless.” She toyed with her tea cup, then spoke again. “When Stiles loves someone, he loves them with his whole heart.” She looked at Derek, her eyes still stern. “I hope you know how lucky you are.”

“I do,” Derek said fervently. “And I meant to talk to you about this, but then…” He paused, trying to sum up the chaos of the previous week.

“All hell broke loose?” Melissa asked.

Derek let out a breath. “Exactly.”

“And what Deaton said is true? You agreed not to…pursue a relationship until Stiles was of age?”

“It’s true,” Derek said, “but then my family found out.” He flinched, remembering the confrontation with Kate and the nightmare that followed.

Melissa frowned. “They don’t approve?”

Derek laughed tiredly. “Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Uh…” Derek scratched his head again. “A wolf and a human together…they think it’s wrong. Unnatural.”

“Really?” Melissa looked surprised. “I get that Hunters are opposed, like with Scott and Allison. But that’s because they think all werewolves are monsters.” The thin set of her lips showed what she thought of the Argents. “What’s wrong with dating a human?”

“I don’t know. But Stiles is part witch, too, and we’ve traditionally been at war with them, so…” Derek trailed off, then shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “It’s complicated.”

“It sounds stupid to me,” Melissa said flatly. 

Derek laughed, feeling his heart lighten. “I agree.”

Melissa drummed her fingertips on the table again, staring at Derek through narrowed eyes. He tried not to squirm under her gaze. “And you and Stiles really are engaged?”

“Yes,” Derek said quickly. “It’s too soon, I know, but it was a way to show my family I was serious. Lydia figured out if we got engaged with the pack as witnesses my family couldn’t legally contest it, and she was right.”

“Of course she was.” Melissa smiled wryly. “And now they’re okay with it?”

“Now they’re…” Derek hesitated, thinking of his last conversation with his mother. It was only a day ago, but seemed forever. “They’ve backed off,” he said finally. “They won’t interfere.”

“At least your sister seems to approve.”

Derek shook his head in wonder. “She didn’t at first, but I think she’s on our side now.”

Melissa’s smiled broadened. “Very few people can resist the Stilinski charm.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You realize I’m going to have a long talk with Stiles about this. And I’ll talk to Scott and Doctor Deaton, too.”

Derek spread his hands wide. “Of course. And uh, about last night…” He tugged nervously at his collar again.

Melissa raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

Derek shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We weren’t…we didn’t…When we got Stiles back from the witch, he was okay, physically. But he was scared. Upset. We both were.” Derek’s hands started to shake at the memory, and he pressed them together to try to stop their trembling. 

“I heard what happened,” Melissa said gently.

Derek’s eyes stung as he blinked back tears. “It was close,” he admitted. “Too close.” 

“But this Król.” Melissa waved her hand in dismissal. “He’s dead now?”

“As a doornail,” Derek said firmly. “Stiles’ uncle incinerated his bones.”

Melissa’s face was grim. “Good. So when you got home…?”

Derek shrugged. “Like I said, we were both exhausted and upset, and we just needed to hold on to each other.” He folded his arms and glared at Melissa. “And I won’t apologize for that.”

Melissa looked at him for a long moment, her expression revealing nothing.

Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”

Derek blinked in surprise. “Okay?”

“Okay. Hang on,” Melissa added when Derek started to speak. “Like I said, I need to talk to Stiles about this.” She sighed. “But I know from what Scott tells me that werewolves can’t lie. And even if they could, you couldn’t, Derek Hale.”

Derek blushed. “You don’t really know me.”

“I know enough,” Melissa said firmly. “I trust my instincts, and those of my boys. I don’t believe you would deliberately harm or deceive anyone, especially not someone in your pack.” She took a deep breath. “And I might be willing to give this relationship my blessing.” She held up her hand again before Derek could speak. “Once Stiles is of age, and not a minute before.”

“Thank you,” Derek breathed. He felt his shoulders begin to relax, and the throbbing pain behind his eyes eased. 

“Not so fast,” Melissa warned. “First, you need to answer one more question. And I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Of course,” Derek said eagerly. “Anything. What do you need to know?”

Melissa leaned forward in her chair. Her voice became cold, her dark eyes ferocious. “What exactly did Peter do to Stiles?”


	54. Chapter 54

Afterwards, Derek felt wrung out and exhausted but at the same time, relieved. After so many secrets and lies, it felt good to unburden himself to someone as caring and perceptive as Melissa.

There was still one secret he was keeping from her, though—that Peter was his biological father. Stiles would be the first to learn that unpleasant truth. Everyone else could wait.

Derek rubbed his eyes. His head still ached. Even as it had been a relief, the conversation with Melissa had been agonizing.

_Melissa’s dark eyes swam with tears as she pressed trembling fingertips to her lips. When she could finally speak, her voice was shaking. “Why didn’t Stiles or Isaac tell me? I would have put a stop to it.”_

_Derek stared down at his tea. There were several tiny, curled leaves sloshing around in the amber liquid at the bottom of the cup. He knew humans told fortunes by reading tea leaves, and wondered if the custom originated with witches. He’d have to ask Stiles._

_“Derek!” Melissa’s voice was sharp._

_Derek couldn’t bring himself to say the words, but he didn’t need to: When he raised his eyes and met Melissa’s gaze, she slumped back in her chair and her face turned chalky._

_“Peter threatened me.”_

_Derek nodded. “He told Stiles he’d kill you and Scott if he told anyone about the abuse. And as for Isaac…” Derek shrugged helplessly. “At that point, he had no one to tell.”_

_The grief in Melissa’s eyes turned to rage, and she gripped the tabletop so hard her knuckles turned white. When she spoke, her voice was tight and clipped._

_“How attached are you to this tea set?”_

_“Fairly,” Derek admitted. He quickly scanned the room for a suitable target, then pointed to the Faberge clock on the mantel. “That, on the other hand, has always struck me as a little gaudy.”_

The sun was setting, breaking through the rain clouds, turning the water droplets into diamonds and shedding its golden rays on Hale House like a benediction. Inside, the house was peaceful, with music playing somewhere upstairs and delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. Derek paused for a moment to soak it all in, to remind himself that, after all the shit that had gone down, he was finally _home_.

In the main foyer Derek found Boyd, a carpenter’s pencil stuck behind one ear, preparing to re-hang the front door. (Derek remembered belatedly that he had ripped it off its hinges.)

“Need a hand?” he asked. 

“Nah, I got it.” Boyd hefted the heavy oak panel like it weighed nothing.

“As long as you’re fixing things…” 

Boyd raised his eyebrows. “Broken window in the dining room?” 

Derek scratched his ear self-consciously. “Yeah. Mrs. McCall is in there now, but when she’s done…”

Boyd grinned. “On it, Boss.”

Derek found the rest of the male members of the pack in the kitchen, making pizza. Isaac stirred the sauce on the stovetop while Scott chopped peppers at the table and Jackson spun dough in the air with surprising skill. 

Stiles slouched on a chair in the far corner with his knees drawn up, one foot jiggling impatiently. He had his red sweatshirt wrapped around him with the hood up and clutched a coffee mug in both hands. His expression was petulant. 

“I said I’m fine,” he groused as Derek entered.

“And I said you need to rest,” Scott answered mildly.

Stiles’ scowl deepened when he saw Derek. “Well, look who’s here. Finished talking about me behind my back?”

Derek ignored the sarcasm. “We’re taking a recess.” He leaned over the stove and gave the sauce an appreciative sniff. “Smells good.” He looked around the kitchen. “Where are the girls?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Doing each other’s hair and makeup.”

“They kicked us out,” Isaac added.

“Last night sucked,” Scott pointed out loyally. “They needed something to make them feel better.”

“That’s fine,” Derek said, “but if you cook that means they have to clean up.”

“Sweet!” With a final flick of his wrist, Jackson slid the pizza dough onto a waiting pan, next to another one already prepared. “I'll tell them.”

Scott and Isaac both shook their heads Jackson strutted out of the room. “Dumbass,” Isaac commented as he ladled sauce onto the pizza dough. “They’re gonna kick his butt.”

Derek waited until Jackson had sprinted upstairs before speaking. “Stiles, Mrs. McCall wants to see you.”

Stiles glowered at him. “What for?”

Derek declined to rise to the bait. “Because she wants to talk to you. Scott and Isaac, she wants to see you, too, after Stiles.”

Isaac’s eyes widened, and he dropped the ladle, splattering sauce all over the cooktop. “Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not.” Derek placed a calming hand on the back of Isaac’s neck. “Melissa just wants to make sure her boys are okay, after everything that happened last night.”

Derek felt a pang of guilt even as Isaac relaxed under his touch. It was the truth, certainly, but not the whole truth. It had been a breach of trust to tell Melissa what Peter had done to Isaac; then again, Derek figured Isaac needed as much love and support as he could get.

“Don’t worry, bro,” Scott told Isaac. “Mom likes you best.”

Isaac laughed and picked up the ladle again. “With you two as competition, that’s not hard.” 

“Rude.” Scott made a face, but shot Derek a wink as Isaac went back to work.

Derek gave Scott a grateful slap on the shoulder as he walked over to where Stiles brooded in the corner. There he took the cup from Stiles hands and set it on the countertop. 

Stiles glared up at him. “Okay, first of all, I was—"

He broke off with a squeak of surprise as Derek plucked him bodily out of the chair and slung him over his shoulder. 

“Put me down, you big oaf!” Stiles beat on Derek’s back with his fists. Ignoring his protests, Derek carried him out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Scott and Isaac cat-called after them, while Boyd wolf-whistled from his position in the foyer. Derek raised his eyebrows at him. 

“Beat it,” he suggested.

Boyd grabbed his tools and skedaddled upstairs, while Scott and Isaac ducked back in the kitchen, sniggering.

“I said put me down! Just because you’re some big macho Alpha ass—OW!” Stiles broke off as Derek smacked him on the butt. “What the HELL was that for?”

“That’s for your attitude.”

“Attitude? What attitu—OW!” Stiles yelled as Derek smacked him again. “What the HELL, man?” 

Derek spanked Stiles once more for good measure, then set him on the table with his legs dangling over the edge, caging him in with his arms. “Your attitude toward Melissa. She’s been like a mother to you. She took you in and cared for you like you were her own. She didn’t have to do any of that, right?”

Stiles huffed out an angry breath, folded his arms, and looked away. “Right,” he said truculently.

“That means you treat her with respect,” Derek said. “That means when I tell you Mrs. McCall wants to speak with you, your answer should be ‘Yes, Alpha,’ not ‘What for?’”

Stiles held out a minute longer, glowering. Then his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Tears glistened in his eyes but he impatiently scrubbed them away. “I just hate it when other people make decisions about my life.”

“Makes sense,” Derek said mildly. “This isn’t the first time this has happened to you.”

Stiles looked down, tugging at his fingers in his usual nervous habit. “Yeah, after the fire, there were the cops, teachers, social workers, shrinks…Everyone had a different idea about what they should do with me, like I was a problem that needed to be solved, but no one bothered to ask me what I wanted. I tried to tell them, but I couldn’t _talk_.” His fingers clenched into fists. “They thought I was just being stubborn. Then they thought I was crazy. If it hadn’t been for Scott—“ Stiles broke off, shaking his head. “I just felt…” 

“Helpless,” Derek said.

“Yeah, and I hated it! Just like now.” Stiles gestured angrily toward the other wing of the house. “What makes them think they even have a say?”

“Melissa loves you, plus she’s your guardian,” Derek pointed out. “Laura out-ranks me. Deaton is an ally.”

“And my uncle is an interfering asshole,” Stiles concluded. “But none of that means they get to tell me what to do, or tell us we can’t be together. None of them are my Alpha—you are.”

Derek’s heart warmed. He gently grasped Stiles’ chin with his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be okay.”

Stiles frowned ferociously again. “You don’t know that! What if—"

Derek kissed him. Stiles gave another squeak of surprise as their lips met. Then he gradually melted into the kiss, his fingers tightening in Derek’s shirt. 

Derek deepened the kiss, chasing Stiles’ taste with his tongue as he grasped him by the hips and tugged him closer. He felt both their bodies stir in response, and reluctantly started to pull away. 

Stiles wasn’t having any of it. He attacked Derek’s mouth, winding his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist as tightly as a limpet. Derek could have easily overpowered him, of course, but the part of his brain reserved for rational decision-making seemed to be out to lunch.

Instead, he laid Stiles on the table, still kissing him, and placed his hand around his throat. His wolf gave a pleased rumble as Stiles went slack in submission, his mouth opening even further under Derek’s. Derek traced his fingers down the slender column of Stiles neck, brushing against his mark and tangling in the collar, feeling his pulse thud under his touch. 

When they finally came up for air, Stiles blinked up at him lazily. “What was that for?”

Derek stroked his thumb over Stiles’ lips, still wet and reddened from their kiss. “To get you to shut up.” 

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “Very funny. “ His voice was husky—Derek didn’t know if it was a result of years of disuse, or just the way Stiles sounded. (Either way, Derek thought, it was damn sexy.) And although Stiles was still pale, his eyes seemed brighter. His body temperature was warmer and his scent cleaner somehow, proof that he was healing. He had a dusting of flour across his cheekbone, which Derek decided was adorable.

He reached down to brush it off. But this time, when he touched Stiles’ skin, black veins sprouted on his hands.

Derek frowned. “Are you in pain?”

Stiles sat up, batting his hands away in irritation. “I’m fine. You’re not, though. Your head hurts, doesn’t it?” With his fingertips, he gently rubbed the skin between Derek’s eyebrows. Derek closed his eyes, practically purring at the contact. 

“Yeah, “he admitted. “It’s been a long day. A longer week.”

Stiles continued rubbing. “You still haven’t told me what happened with your family, when you were home.”

Derek felt another pang of guilt at the thought, and opened his eyes. “I will,” he said. “I promise.” He plucked Stiles off the table by his waist and set him on the floor. “But first, you need to go talk to Mrs. McCall.”

Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But she better not give me the sex lecture. Scott and Allison get to sleep together, so why can’t we?”

Derek just pointed toward the dining room. “Don’t argue. Just go.” 

Stiles growled in frustration, but stomped off. 

“Good boy,” Derek called after him.

“Bite me!” 

Derek laughed, then heard a series of heavy thumps from upstairs—probably Jackson getting his butt handed to him by the girls. He thought about going up to referee when he glimpsed movement on the front lawn. As he peered out the window, he realized his headache was gone.

Outside, Stan paced the perimeter, muttering to himself and periodically holding his cell phone up to the sky.

Derek went outside and strolled across the yard.

“Problem?” he asked smugly.

Stan’s scowl was as ferocious as his nephew’s. “Just your lousy cell service.”

Derek nodded toward his phone. “You need to have Stiles fix that for you.”

Stan smiled sardonically. “Oh, I asked him. I believe his exact words were ‘Go fuck yourself.’”

Derek laughed.

“Yeah, hilarious,” Stan said. “I’d ask where the kid got his vocabulary, but I know it’s genetic.” He fiddled with his phone for a minute, then looked at Derek. “Look, you and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

Derek let his eyebrows do the talking.

“Fine.” Stan rolled his eyes in response. “A disastrous foot. But we both want the same thing.”

“Do we?”

“Yeah. We both want the kid to be safe, right?”

Derek folded his arms. “So?”

“So that means making sure Król doesn’t have any co-conspirators who might come after him.”

Derek felt a surge of alarm at the thought. “Is that likely?”

Stan shrugged. “He’s always had hangers-on. People willing to do his dirty work for him.”

Derek’s fingertips and gums itched, his claws and fangs begging to be released. “How do we find out?”

“Well, for starters, it would help if I could make a fucking phone call,” Stan snapped. “Then I can have my family back in Poland follow up.” 

Derek shrugged. “Like I said, talk to Stiles.”

“I will.” Stan stepped closer. “I also asked around when I was at the ER this morning, and I think I know where Król has been staying these past few months. Figured I’d check it out.” He raised his dark eyebrows. “Care to join me, Alpha Hale?”

“Hell, yes,” Derek said.

***

It was dark out by the time they arrived at the garage, not to mention pissing down rain. Derek turned off the Camaro’s headlights as he pulled in to the parking lot, but stealth was hardly necessary. The garage was on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, deserted at this time of night. 

Stan eased his rental car into the space next to Derek and killed the engine. The car had been sitting outside the ruins of the Stilinski home since the previous night, when Scott and Isaac had caught him prowling. 

Stan had checked to make sure the contents of the trunk—including a duffel bag and a sawed-off—hadn’t been stolen, then insisted they stop at a diner near the highway .

"Coffee," Stan explained when Derek raised his eyebrows. "And intel."

Derek had to admit he’d been impressed by Stan’s undercover skills. Derek sat in a booth by the window while Stan took a seat at the counter, and within ten minutes, he’d chatted up the staff and confirmed his suspicions about where Król had been living. Stan had been right about another thing—the waitress fell for his accent hook, line, and sinker. Stan convinced her he was a penniless immigrant looking for work as a mechanic and even made his soaking-wet state and injured hand work for him.

“Everyone think California is for sun,” he said in a thick Polish accent. “But I come here and always rain!” He chuckled, then heaved a heavy sigh. “My friend tell me about jobs fixing car. They even give him place to live! But when I arrive, some man outside hotel attack me. I try to fight him off but…” 

Stan shrugged sadly, holding up his bandaged had. “He take my phone and wallet. No, no, I pay!” he added as the waitress’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Stan proudly pulled some wet and crumpled bills from the pocket of his fatigue jacket and smoothed them out on the counter. “See?”

His face became mournful again. “But without phone, I cannot call my friend and I don't know where he live.”

The waitress patted his hand. “Don’t worry, sugar, I’ll ask around.”

“You will?” Stan smiled, charm oozing off him in waves. “It’s true what they say about California,” he murmured. “Not about sunshine, but…how does the song go?” He hummed a Beach Boys melody, slightly off-tune. “They all must be California girl, yes?”

The waitress blushed and scurried off, absent-mindedly adjusting her hairdo.

In the end, she even gave the asshole free pie.

Now Stan whistled smugly as he led the way up the narrow set of metal stairs behind the garage to the apartment above. At the door, he turned on a penlight and trained the beam on the handle.

“Hold it steady,” he ordered Derek. He pulled a set of lock-picks from his duffel.

“I can break the lock,” Derek offered. 

“You could rip the fucking door off, too,” Stan snapped, “but I don’t actually want anyone to know we’ve been here.”

Derek turned his collar up against the driving rain. “Suit yourself.”

He had to admit that Stan was good. He picked the lock in less than ten seconds. It was pitch-black inside the apartment, making Derek thankful for his enhanced eyesight. Fortunately, he didn’t see any occupants or sense any movement in the shadows. The air was still and close, and smelled of motor oil and cigarette smoke.

“Hang on,” Stan cautioned. “I need to make sure the place isn’t booby-trapped.”

He held up his hands, palms out, and his face grew stern with concentration. He murmured to himself under his breath.

After a moment, he frowned, then snapped his fingers.

Light flashed, and for a split second, something appeared—strands of glowing energy strung throughout the room like a giant spider web. 

Even as Derek growled in alarm, the lines faded into nothing. 

“What was that?”

“Minor protection curse.”

Derek frowned. “I thought spells died when you killed the witch who cast them.”

“It would have faded soon,” Stan admitted, “but I fucking hate waiting.” He flipped on the overhead light.

Derek didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this: A bland, nearly empty apartment. It certainly didn’t look like the lair of a magical psychopath.

“You were expecting maybe a cauldron?” Stan asked sarcastically, reading Derek’s expression. “Potions and spider webs and pointy hats?”

Derek shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Fuckin’ Halloween,” Stan muttered. His fingers twitched as he prowled the room, a sure sign he was craving a cigarette.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Derek asked.

“Anything that might tell us about Król‘s movements, his contacts.”

But the apartment turned out to be just like Król’s disguise—featureless and forgettable. There was a combination kitchen-living room, a bathroom, and a tiny bedroom, all with the bare minimum of furnishings. There was no television or computer, no books or CDs. There were some ugly paintings on the walls, eerie figures of human children with giant eyes. There was a calendar tacked to the kitchen wall advertising the garage downstairs (pouting women in bikinis posed on classic cars) but no bills or paperwork. Derek figured Król had paid his rent in cash, or done an exchange for his labor in the garage.

The lighting was dim, and rain pounded on the roof above. The effect was like a cocoon. Derek found himself getting drowsy. He could feel his shoulders relaxing, even as a distant part of his brain warned him not to let his guard down.

A sudden burst of music made him jump. His heart pounded in alarm until Stan pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. The music cut off abruptly as he answered. “Yeah, Serafin.” 

Derek let out a breath, embarrassed by his reaction. He could hear a woman’s voice on the other end of Stan’s phone, shrill and anxious, but couldn’t understand the words.

At the sound, Stan’s features relaxed with relief, and he sat abruptly on the narrow, pea-green couch. 

“ _Mamo_ ,” he breathed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “ _Mamo, już po wszystkim._ ”

The woman’s voice came again, this time in a questioning tone. Derek recognized the name _Król_.

 _Nigdy więcej nie skrzywdzi nikogo z naszej rodziny,_ ” Stan replied firmly. He listened intently to the woman’s voice, then laughed, harsh and loud. “ _‘Kto sieje wiatr ten zbiera burzę_ ’…You’re right, of course. _Nikt nie będzie po nim płakał.”_

As the woman spoke again, Stan began patting his pockets, no doubt searching for a smoke. With a triumphant flourish, he produced a lone cigarette, flattened and slightly bent.

“ _Co ze Stasiem? Jak się czuje?_?”

As Stan lit the cigarette, his eyes flicked to Derek’s, then away. “ _Jest wycieńczony_ ,” he answered, turning his back. _“Król żywił się jego magią przez miesiące._ ”

The voice grew angry: “ _Mam nadzieję że cierpiał! A jeśli nie, to odnajdę jego duszę w piekle i sama się o to zatroszczę!_

Stan laughed again, but this time his tone was warm. “Aw, Ma, I love you.” 

Derek suddenly felt abashed for listening in. Turning way, he eased the bedroom door open and switched on the light. The bedroom was just as empty and featureless as the other rooms. There was a bed, a bureau with a small TV on it, and a closet. 

His nerves still jangling with adrenalin, Derek cautiously approached the closet door and slowly turned the handle, then ripped the door open, jumping back in case of attack.

Nothing—unless you counted a bunch of clothes swaying gently on hangers as a potential enemy.

Embarrassed, Derek turned on the bare light bulb in the closet and pawed through the clothes, but found nothing suspicious, just a working man’s garb. The clothing reeked of mothballs, making Derek’s nose sting and his eyes water. He was about to close the door when he caught a whiff of a familiar sour smell.

Following a hunch, Derek pushed the clothes aside and peered at the back panel of the closet.

“Son of a bitch!” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish translation, courtesy of Enid!
> 
> \- Mamo już po wszystkim. / Mom, it’s over.
> 
> \- Nigdy więcej nie skrzywdzi nikogo z naszej rodziny. / He will never hurt anyone from our family again.
> 
> \- Kto sieje wiatr ten zbiera burzę, nikt nie będzie po nim płakał./ Who sows the wind will reap the whirlwind. Nobody will cry after him. 
> 
> \--Co ze Stasiem? Jak się czuje?/What about Staś? How is he feeling?
> 
> \- Jest wycieńczony. Król żywił się jego magią przez miesiące. / He is exhausted. Król fed on his magic for months. 
> 
> \- Mam nadzieję że cierpiał! A jeśli nie, to odnajdę jego duszę w piekle i sama się o to zatroszczę! / I hope he suffered! And if not i will find his soul in hell and take care of that!


	55. Chapter 55

When Derek got home, he found the pack in the living room, bent over books and laptops as the driving rain beat against the windows. The mood was glum. Isaac looked exhausted, Scott’s jaw was set in a stubborn line, and Stiles was nowhere to be seen.

Derek stiffened. “What’s wrong?” 

Erika’s smile was bright but her tone was sarcastic. “Lydia reminded us we have a math test on Monday.”

“And if she hadn’t remembered, we’d all flunk,” Allison put in loyally.

Derek noticed Melissa beckoning to him from the kitchen doorway. 

“Carry on, then,” he said, grateful for the excuse to get away from the tension, then ducked out of the room.

The kitchen table was loaded with cookies of various kinds, making the room smell heavenly, and the sink was piled high with spoons and mixing bowls.

“Sorry,” Melissa said, twisting a dishtowel between her hands. “I bake when I’m anxious.”

“Fine by me. Here, let me do that,” Derek told her, nudging her away from the sink. “You dry.” 

He ran water in the deep farmhouse sink, knowing it would provide only a nominal cover for their conversation. _No secrets in a wolf pack_ , he reminded himself as he added dish soap. 

“Where’s Stiles?” he asked quietly.

“In his room.” Melissa grimaced. “He was pretty upset that you told me what happened with Peter.”

Derek sighed. “I’m not surprised. But you’re his parent; you have a right to know.”

“I agree,” Melissa said firmly. “But he doesn’t want us to tell his uncle.”

“Fair enough. They guy would probably start shooting up the place. What about Isaac?”

“He took it a little better.” Melissa reached for the wet bowl Derek handed her, deftly drying it with a towel. “But Scott’s mad at Stiles because he never told him.”

“Does he get that Stiles was protecting him?”

“Yes, but he thinks it’s his job to protect Stiles, not the other way around. There was a lot of yelling.” Melissa winced. “But they’ll work it out. They always do.” She leveled a finger at Derek. “There’s no reason for either of us to interfere.”

Derek sighed again. “Yes, ma’am.”

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Derek extended his senses, locating Stiles’ heartbeat in his attic hideaway. It was low and steady, which probably meant Stiles was asleep. The rest of the pack seemed fine, if grumpy. Derek felt his shoulders relaxing, until he realized with a start that someone was missing.

“Where’s Laura?” he asked. “Did she head back to LA?” He felt a pang at the thought, even as he reminded himself that his sister had taken time off from work to care for his pack. No doubt there were important matters back at Hale corporate that required her attention. The week she’d spent in Beacon Hills was probably the closest to a vacation she’d had since passing the bar.

That’s why Melissa’s answer shocked him. 

“She’s on a date.”

“A date?” Derek stopped washing and stared at her. “With whom?”

Melissa smiled. “That nice new deputy. I think his name is Alfonso.”

“Alphonse Edgerton?” Derek flinched at how loud his voice sounded. 

“Yes, that’s it.” Melissa paused in putting a mixing bowl on the shelf, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t approve?” 

“No, it’s not that…” Derek sputtered. Although it kind of was, he realized. 

Melissa lowered her voice. “He’s a werewolf, right? At least I got that impression.”

“He is. Here, let me do that,” he added, taking the bowl from Melissa and setting it on the shelf, which was out of her reach. The movement gave him time to school his reaction. “It’s just that Laura’s kind of a workaholic,” he said finally. “She hardly ever goes on dates.”

“Well, she seemed pretty excited,” Melissa said. For a moment, she looked a little forlorn. Then she rallied, her pleasant smile sliding back into place. “The girls did her hair and makeup, and she looked fabulous. Alphonse picked her up in the squad car and everything.”

“Huh,” Derek said. 

Melissa frowned. “Speaking of whereabouts, where’s Stiles’ uncle?” Her tone indicated her opinion of the man.

“Uh, he checked into a motel.” Derek thought about telling Melissa what they’d found in Król’s apartment, but decided against it, at least for now. “He said he was going to get some sleep, then call home and check in with his family.”

“I see.” Melissa gave a sniff of dismissal as she arranged the cookies on a platter. Then she carried them out into the living room, where she was greeted with cheers and applause.

Derek thought the matter over as he scrubbed the baking sheets clean. Laura was free to date anyone she chose, of course. And Alphonse was a fine wolf. His rogue status wasn’t due to any fault on his part. Not only that, Derek realized to his chagrin, but Alphonse had saved Stiles’ life, earning a place in Derek’s pack despite his previous association with the Winter Clan. 

Derek felt ashamed of himself that he hadn’t made Alphonse an offer yet. He should have done it immediately, he scolded himself, and resolved to do so the next time he saw him.

The opportunity didn’t present itself, mainly because Laura didn’t come home that night. Instead, she strolled in the house well past noon the next day. Derek had sent the pack home with strict instructions to study for their exam. Scott and Isaac had been the last to leave, and Scott only agreed to because Melissa needed him to drop her off at work. 

“That is, if you boys want the car,” she added. “Of course if you rather I took it, I could drop you at home so you can get back to studying.”

Scott scowled, twisting the strap of his backpack in his hands. “Fine,” he muttered finally. “Just give me a minute.” 

He stomped upstairs to the third floor, and they could all hear him yelling, presumably at Stiles’ door. 

“God dammit, Stiles! Come down here so we can talk!”

“No! I mean, what’s that, Scott? I can’t hear you!”

“Yes, you can, and we need to talk!”

“No, we don’t!”

“Stiles, you’ll have to come down sooner or later,” Scott reasoned. “You’re gonna have to eat. Or pee.” 

“I have Reeses!” Stiles yelled back. “And I’ll just pee out the window!”

“Dude! Gross!”

In the end, Derek faithfully promised Melissa that he would deliver Stiles to her home that night, even if he had to drag him out of the attic by his ankles. Stiles would spend the week at Melissa’s house, focusing on rest and schoolwork. Derek could visit, but their time together would be chaperoned.

The thought made Derek feel beyond grouchy, but he reminded himself that Melissa was well within her rights. “Think of me as Stiles’ other Alpha,” she told him gently. “At least for now.”

Derek tried not to glower as he stood on the porch, watching Melissa and the boys get in her car. He stretched his neck, trying to work out the kinks. He hadn’t slept well. He’d generously offered Melissa his room for the night, but she’d declined, preferring Scott’s. Derek suspected her real motive was to put the kibosh on Scott and Allison’s sex life. It had worked, too—Scott bunked with Isaac, and Allison with Lydia, forcing Jackson (complaining loudly) to sleep on the couch, since the single guest room was designated for Laura’s use. The lack of any other rooms meant Erika and Boyd got to keep their regular sleeping arrangements, but Derek had cornered them on the way to bed.

“No sex!” he hissed. “I mean it!”

Erika looked ready to argue, but Boyd made a face. “Are you kidding?” he whispered back. “With Scott’s mom down the hall? Ew!” 

_Derek slept fitfully, lying awake long after the rest of the household had fallen asleep. His bones ached for Stiles. In the morning, as the rest of the pack devoured their breakfast, he carried a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal to the third floor._

_“Stiles,” he said quietly to the trapdoor. “Come on. I know you’re awake and I know you can hear me.”_

_There was a pause, then a squeak and a rattle as the door opened and the ladder came down. Derek only climbed halfway, far enough to set the cup and bowl within reach. After a second, they disappeared, followed by slurping noises._

_“This coffee sucks,” Stiles muttered._

_“I’m not as good at brewing it as you are,” Derek pointed out._

_“You’re just trying to get me to come down and make some.”_

_“Guilty as charged,” Derek replied. He climbed two more steps, only venturing far enough to be at eye level with the attic room. Stiles was stretched out on his belly on his pallet, arms folded, feet toward the tiny window and head toward the trapdoor._

_“Hey,” Derek said._

_“Hey,” Stiles replied softly._

_“You okay?”_

_“Yeah.” Stiles rested his chin on his arms. “I just…I don’t like everyone knowing my business.”_

_“No secrets in a wolf pack,” Derek said mildly._

_“I know.” Stiles toyed with the spoon in the oatmeal. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was a mess. Derek noticed to his distress that Stiles still had rope burns on his wrists from where Król had tied him to the tree._

_Derek took another step and folded his arms on the floor, mimicking Stiles’ posture, then blinked solemnly at him._

_Despite himself, Stiles cracked up. “You’re such a weirdo,” he said fondly._

_“Yeah, but you love me.”_

_“I do.” Stiles smiled shyly, poking at the oatmeal again. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I’m not really mad at you. I just feel…” He hesitated again._

_Derek chose his words with care. “Do you feel ashamed that Melissa knows what Peter did?”_

_Stiles tilted his head on his arms. “I guess…not really? Not anymore.” He glared suddenly. “But I don’t want my uncle to know about it.”_

_“That’s your call,” Derek said. “If you want, you can tell him, but nobody else will. He’s not pack.”_

_Stiles nodded, looking mollified._

_“Do you remember him?” Derek asked curiously. “From when you were little?”_

_“A little bit. I’m pretty sure he brought me some cool matchbox cars.” Stiles’ eyes sharpened with memory. “And my mom cried, she was so happy to see him. I got mad and tried to bite him, ‘til she explained that people could cry when they’re happy, not just when they’re sad.” Stiles’ mouth twisted at the memory, and he stabbed viciously at the oatmeal. “Is it okay if I stay up here for now?”_

_“Of course,” Derek said._

_Stiles looked apologetic. “I don’t feel like being around the whole pack right now, even Scott. I just need some time to myself.”_

_“That’s totally fine,” Derek reassured him. “You can come down when you’re ready.”_

_“Okay.” Stiles scooted forward on his belly until he and Derek were practically nose to nose. “Kiss me?”_

_Derek smiled, then hooked his finger through the collar around Stiles’ neck. He tugged gently, dipping Stiles’ chin down just far enough so he could reach his lips. He kissed him lightly—once, twice, and a third time on the nose. “Let me know if you need anything else up there.”_

_Stiles smiled shyly again. “Okay.” He scrambled backward, tugging the trap door closed behind him._

Remembering, Derek winced. That conversation would have been the perfect time to tell Stiles the truth about Peter. Except that there were so many people in the house and Derek would prefer to have that talk when he and Stiles were alone and…

And he was a coward, Derek concluded. He was afraid Stiles would reject him once he knew the truth, and that would kill him.

Derek rubbed his aching neck again, then raised a hand in acknowledgement when Melissa waved farewell out the car window. As she did, she passed Stan’s car coming up the drive and sent him a cool stare.

“That’s one tough lady,” Stan remarked as he hiked up to the house, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He paused when he saw Derek’s sour expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.” Stan looked around. “It’s quiet. Where are the kids?”

“Sent them home. They have school tomorrow.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed. “Staś?”

“Still here.” When Stan raised his eyebrows, Derek tried not to sound defensive. “I’m going to drive him home later.”

“Where is he now?”

Derek folded his arms. “Upstairs. He wanted some time to himself.”

Stan shrugged. “Probably just as well. He doesn’t need to see what we found. Come on, Hale,” he added, swaggering into the house like he owned the place. “Let’s get to work.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Derek heard another car, glanced out the window, and saw a Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department cruiser. He forced himself to wait inside, rather than standing on the front porch with his arms folded like he wanted to do. He winced as he heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing coming from the front seat.

“I’ll call you later,” he heard Alphonse murmur, “after I’m done with my shift.” This was followed by more disgusting kissing noises. As the cruiser backed down the driveway, Laura strolled in the front door, humming happily and swinging her purse by the strap. 

“Good morning, Derek.”

“It’s afternoon,” Derek pointed out.

“So it is,” Laura giggled. Derek had literally never heard his older sister giggle before. She giggled again when Derek reached over and pulled an oak leaf out of her hair. “Whoopsie.”

“Laura.” Derek stared at her. “Are you drunk?”

“Little bit. Mostly I’m just relaxed.” Laura spread her arms and turned in a circle, then peered up at Derek and poked him in the chest. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt _relaxed_ , little brother?”

“No, and I don’t really _want_ to know.”

Laura pouted. “You’re such an Ommie’s Boy. Always have been.”

“Uh huh. Want some coffee?”

“Oooh, yes.” Laura brightened, then pouted again. “I can feel my buzz wearing off.”

“Been there.” Derek led the way to the kitchen and poured a generous cup of coffee for Laura. She perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs as she drank happily, then attacked the stack of pancakes he warmed up for her in the microwave.

“It’s nice here,” she said finally, licking maple syrup off her fingers. “I can see why you like it.”

Derek looked up from rinsing her plate in the sink. (Stiles bitched whenever pack members didn’t pre-rinse.) “You thinking of staying a little longer?”

“Maaaybe,” Laura drawled. “I like the local wildlife.” She giggled again.

Derek rolled his eyes, then turned, leaning his hip against the sink. “I’ve been meaning to thank you—"

“Pfft!” Laura interrupted, waved her hand in the air in dismissal. “Not necessary!”

“It is necessary,” Derek insisted. “You took care of my pack when I was—"

“When you were kidnapped by our parents,” Laura finished, scowling into her coffee cup. “Real big favor, there.”

“It was,” Derek said. “If you hadn’t stepped up, I don’t know if I could actually have left them. And it’s not just that,” he added, over-riding Laura when she tried to speak again. “You stood up for Stiles yesterday, against his uncle. You insisted he was part of our Clan. You didn’t have to do that.”

Laura rolled her eyes, kicking her legs against the cupboards. “What can I say? The little rug rat is growing on me.”

“I’m serious, Laura.”

Laura sighed. “I know. I guess it’s just a family thing, you know? I mean, you and I can fight like witches and wolves, but if in outsider comes at you?” Laura shrugged. “Then it’s on. Same with Stiles.”

Derek smiled. “Well, I appreciate it.” 

“Mom and Dad will come around, you know,” Laura said quietly.

“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. It doesn’t really matter.” Derek took a deep breath. “But it means everything to me to have your support.”

“Aw, we’re having a moment, Der-bear,” Laura crooned. She hopped off the counter and wrapped her arms around Derek, swaying back and forth. “We’re having a MO-ment!”

“Okay, okay.” Derek hugged her, then pulled back. “I hate to shatter your good mood, but…”

Laura frowned up at him. “What’s wrong?”

Derek took a deep breath. “I need to show you something. Something we found in Król’s apartment.”

***

“That son of a bitch!” Laura hissed. She looked at Derek, who was pacing the room. “I mean, we know he’d been watching Stiles, but this is…”

“I know,” Derek said grimly. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached. 

Stan had spread the materials out on the table in the formal dining room. There were photos, most taken from some distance but still disturbing in their clarity: Stiles at school, Stiles on the lacrosse field, Stiles in the parking lot of the mall leaning against his Jeep while texting on his cell phone. There were scribbled notes, detailed schedules tracking his movements, personal items including a gum wrapper and a crumpled receipt from a coffee shop. All of it had been tacked to the back wall of Król’s bedroom closet, hidden behind his clothes, along with childhood photos of Król with Stan and Anna. 

Beneath the floorboards they’d discovered a cache of the rusty nails, wrapped in blood-soaked ribbon, that had been driven into the trees in the preserve. There was also a hand-written journal—a spell-book. Stan was still translating the tiny, cramped handwriting, but so far it was horrifying in its level of both detail and venom. 

“I can’t believe he wrote all this down,” Stan said more than once, shaking his head. 

“What was he thinking?” he burst out now, fingers twitching restlessly in his usual pattern. “If anybody had found this, his chance for plausible deniability would have gone right out the window.”

“Maybe it was arrogance,” Laura suggested. “It never occurred to Król that he would fail.”

Stan distractedly scrubbed his face with his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. “It would certainly fit his profile,” he said finally. “Fortunately for us, this is all my family will need to clear things up. Król's blood,” he added when Derek and Laura looked at him. “The Head of my House will have to report his death to the High Council, along with sufficient evidence to prove my actions were justified.”

“Won’t his family accuse you of forging the evidence?” Laura asked.

Stan shook his head. “Magic has a signature,” he said. ”I couldn’t fake his if I tried.” He flipped through the pages of the book, and several pieces of paper fell out. Stan unfolded the first, then gave a grunt. “Looks like the letter Zarek’s cousin told me about. This is how he found out Staś was still alive, and in Beacon Hills.” 

Derek frowned. “Who sent it?”

Stan shook his head. “It’s anonymous, but the writer promised to send proof of life for…” He whistled. “A substantial sum of money, to be wired into a bank account. And when Król took the bait…”

He unfolded the second page, then squinted up at Derek. “This look familiar?” 

Derek took the papers and did a double take. “What the fuck? This is Hale Corporation letterhead.”

“What?” Laura snatched the paper from Derek’s hand, her eyes quickly scanning the dense paragraphs. 

“This is the contract you signed with the Beacon Hills Pack on behalf of the Clan,” she told Derek. She turned to the last page and held it up for him to see. The names of his pack members were printed, with an additional one written in black ink: _STILINSKI_.

Stan scowled at the page. “Hey, is that a bloodstain?”

“It is.” Derek remembered the moment vividly.

_Derek extended a claw and slashed it across his palm. Blood welled up, dripping on the papers below. Several drops landed on the exact spot where Derek had carefully written the name Stilinski in bold black letters._

_Deaton offered his hand, and Derek made a small cut in the man's dark skin. As the blood oozed out, Derek thrust his hand across the table, and Deaton took it. When their bloody palms pressed together, electricity sparked between their hands, flaring sharply and then winking out._

_Derek stumbled back in shock, his ears ringing, thunder in his chest._

_Deaton grinned again, as casually as if they had been discussing the weather. “Congratulations, Alpha Hale,” he said. “The Beacon Hills pack is yours.”_

Derek’s mind reeled, suddenly struck by how much his life had changed since that initial meeting only a few short months ago. _It changed for the better_ , he reminded himself, then dragged his attention back to the present.

“It’s nothing sinister,” Laura was telling Stan. “We seal contracts with blood, that’s all.”

“Fine,” Stan replied, “but how did Król get his hands on your contract?”

“Holy shit,” Derek said abruptly. “Harris. My secretary,” he added when Laura looked at him blankly.

Laura scowled. “The skinny little guy, the one with the tiny pretentious hipster glasses?”

“That’s the one,” Derek said. “I sent him out of the room, but he must have been listening at the door.” He started to pace again in agitation. “That’s when I found out about Stiles for the first time. He wasn’t on the original roster.”

“Why not?” Stan asked.

“God, it’s so complicated.” Still pacing, Derek ran his hands through his hair. “After Peter was killed—”

Stan raised his eyebrows. “Peter being your crazy uncle?”

Derek met Laura’s eyes, and she gave a tiny shake of her head. “Yes,” Derek said. “Peter had been sent into exile here. He wasn’t supposed to have a pack of his own, but he made one.”

Stan pointed a finger at him. “The Turning Bite, right? We talked about that yesterday.”

“Right,” Derek said. “Peter bit Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Boyd, and Erika.”

“And Lydia,” Laura added.

Stan looked surprised. “Lydia?”

Derek waved his hands impatiently. “It didn’t take. It’s a Banshee thing. But after Peter was killed in a fire, the pack needed a new Alpha.”

Stan scowled. “Why?”

“Unclaimed packs are considered fair game,” Laura explained. “They’re not protected by were law unless they have an Alpha in good standing. Anybody could have come in, fought them for the territory, and killed them, with no repercussions.”

“Nice,” Stan said, his voice dry with sarcasm.

“It’s not all bad,” Laura insisted. “The pack had offers from several Clans, offers to create alliances. They chose Hale, and my father appointed Derek as Alpha.”

“For lack of anyone better,” Derek muttered.

“Stop that!” Laura snapped. “Don’t sell yourself short.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “So Harris was eavesdropping and found out about Stiles.”

“Right,” Derek said. “His name had been kept out of the negotiations, because he was a witch,” he explained to Stan. “Deaton added him at the last minute, figuring it was too late for the Clan to back out of the deal honorably. He was right,” he added. “I had to sign whether I wanted to or not.”

“Smart guy,” Stan commented.

Derek shook his head. “It was all Stiles’ idea. He knew no clan would take him in because of his heritage, so he figured out a way to make it happen. Deaton told me…” Derek stopped pacing, and smiled fondly the memory. “Deaton told me Stiles came with the territory. And of course the other reason he didn’t mention him was because—”

“Because his parents had been brutally murdered by magic?” Stan asked bitterly. “And everyone thought Staś was dead as well?”

Derek nodded. “I know you hate Deaton for it, but he did it to protect Stiles.”

“That son of a bitch,” Laura said. 

Derek blinked in surprise. “Deaton?”

“No, Harris. He must have figured whoever tried to kill Stiles the first time would pay handsomely for intel about him.”

“But how did he know who to contact?”

“Deaton told me about Stiles’ mother,” Derek explained. “How she left her fiancé, eloped with John Stilinksi, and went into hiding. So when she and John were killed, Deaton assumed—"

“He assumed Anna’s clan killed them, or the fiancé’s did.” Stan shook his head, his expression bitter. “So all this Harris had to do was find the guy Anna was supposed to marry. It wasn’t exactly a secret when the wedding didn’t happen,” he added. “It was a huge scandal. People still talk about it.”

“So he did some research,” Laura began. “But where?”

Stan shrugged. “Any reputable supernatural database with detailed records—”

“The Werchives,” Derek said suddenly. “When Stiles and I visited, there was a man who looked a little bit like Harris.” He closed his eyes, remembering.

_The spindly archivist reminded Derek of his annoying, erstwhile assistant, Adrian Harris, which made it even easier to come down hard on him._

_“What is the meaning of this?” Derek demanded, thrusting the paper in the man’s face. “Can you explain to me why my research assistant has been denied access to this archive?”_

_The man took the paper in shaking hands and peered at it through narrow-rimmed glasses. “Alpha Hale,” he stammered. “This decision appears to be handed down from the Council, not from us—"_

_“The Council? The Council?” Derek raised his voice even more, causing a few patrons to look over at them, frowning at the disruption in the hallowed quiet of the hall. The librarian sank further behind his desk, ducking his head in embarrassment._

_“You’re asking me to believe,” Derek continued loudly, “that the Werewolf High Council is denying a member of my personal pack access to the archives that my grandfather helped establish? Is that what you’re asking me to believe, Beta…” He grabbed archivist’s nameplate on the desk and read his name in a booming voice. “Charles Conrad?”_

Derek opened his eyes. “Conrad,” he said. “Charles Conrad.”

Laura was already on her phone, fingers flying over the keys. “Different last name, but it could…” She looked up at Derek. “There’s a Charles Conrad listed on the Werchives home page.” She tapped the link, then nodded. “He and Harris are in the same kin-group.”

Stan leaned back in his chair. “So the rat bastard eavesdrops, finds out there’s money to be made, calls his cousin…”

“Who gives him the name of Anna’s fiancé and then…” Laura picked up the letter and swore under her breath. “He sent this to Król the day after you signed the deal with Deaton,” she told Derek. “Król probably arrived in Beacon Hills before you did.”

Stan flipped the pages in the spell-book back to the beginning to check the date. “Yep,” he said. “Son of a bitch didn’t waste any time.”

Laura shook her head. “But why would Harris and Conrad betray their Clan? They both had a good positions with Hale.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Derek spoke through clenched teeth. Red flooded his vision as he picked up the pages of the contract, staring at the blood drops that marred Stiles’ name. His hands started to shake.

Laura plucked the paper from his fingers. “I’ll handle this. No, let me,” she added when Derek started to protest. “You have enough on your plate.” She rose, her manner brisk and professional, her previous mellow mood forgotten.

“What are you going to do?” Stan asked 

“I’m going to have my security staff pick up the little weasel, and his cousin.” Laura took a deep breath. “And then I’m going to call my father. No, Derek,” she said as he started to object. “Dad may not be happy about you being with Stiles, but when he hears about this, he won’t care if Stiles is a witch, an omega, or a potted plant. Nobody betrays the Hale Clan and lives to tell about it. Why don’t you go for a run?” she asked over her shoulder as she headed for the office. “It’ll do you some good.”

***

Derek had to admit Laura was right. It felt good to run, to stretch and push his muscles. He wore only sweatpants, and ran barefoot, easily shifting between human and wolf form as the mood took him.

The rain had let up, finally, and the sun came out towards evening, slanting between the massive tree trunks. It was his favorite times to be in his forest, Derek decided. After the rain, everything felt washed clean. The taint of foreign magic was gone, and the air felt fresh and cool. 

Derek felt his thoughts cooling likewise, his anger diminishing. Harris would be dealt with, he knew. Laura was right: Despite what his father felt about Derek’s relationship with Stiles, he would never tolerate such a breach of trust.

But as he neared Hale House, an acrid scent made Derek stop in his tracks. He raised his head, sniffing the air. Dread seized him as he realized what it was.

Smoke.


	56. Chapter 56

Dear Readers,

Thank you so so SO much for your incredible patience! We're getting closer to the end of the story, which means the chapters take longer to write, because I have to start wrapping up all the threads. I also have to go back and re-read what I've written to make sure I don't leave anything out! It takes time, but I'm trying to make the chapters as action-packed as possible to make up for the long wait. Anyway, hope you like this one. I promise the next one will be even more intense! You are the best! 

***

When last we left our heroes...

_As Derek neared Hale House, an acrid scent made him stop in his tracks. He raised his head, sniffing the air. Dread seized him as he realized what it was._

_Smoke._

And now...Chapter 56!

***

After a moment, Derek relaxed, recognizing the smoky smell as that of smoldering tobacco.

Sure enough, when he arrived home, he saw Stan prowling the perimeter of the yard, smoking a cigarette while talking on his cell. 

But there was another scent in the air as well, one that brought Derek to a halt. It was acrid, tinged with salt.

Derek recognized the smell immediately: Stiles’ anger, mixed with tears. At the same moment, he heard a door slam far inside the house.

Derek’s own anger blazed. He strode across the lawn, eyes glowing, claws extending, and bare chest heaving in righteous fury. 

When Stan saw him coming, he stopped pacing and his blue eyes widened in alarm. It might have been funny if Derek wasn’t so enraged. As he drew closer, he could hear the voice on the other end of the line and recognized it from the night before—older, female, and tinged with anxiety. 

“ _Twój brat mógłby pomóc_ ,” the voice was saying, “ _jako ksiądz—_ ”

“ _Mamo to przesada!_ ” Stan interrupted the caller sharply. “ _Nie mieszaj w to Andrzeja._ ”

“Hang up,” Derek told him through clenched teeth. 

“Just a second!” Stan hissed. Then he held the phone away from his ear, wincing, as the voice grew shrill.

“ _Mam jednego wnuka i zrobię wszystko aby wrócił do domu!_ "

“Okay, okay, Ma,” Stan said. “I hear you, but—”

Derek stepped closer. “Hang. Up. _Now_.”

“I will! Jesus!” Stan snapped at Derek, then spoke into the phone again. “ _Staś jest bezpieczny ze mną, mam to pod kontrolą._ ” 

The female voice hesitated. “ _Wierzę Ci ale..._ ” 

“ _Wkrótce wrócimy do Kielc i będziemy znowu razem, obiecuję_.” Stan’s voice was firm but soothing. “ _Nic nie stanie nam na drodze._ ”

The woman’s voice became calm, or at least resigned. “ _Czekam na Was, powiedz Stasiowi, że go kocham._ ”

“Okay, Ma, I will, but right now I gotta go,” Stan said. He ended the call.

“What the hell happened with Stiles?” Derek demanded.

Stan blinked. “Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that crap.” Derek moved even closer, pleased when Stan instinctively took a step backward. “I can tell he’s upset.”

“How can you—” Stan closed his eyes. “Oh, crap.”

“Exactly,” Derek said grimly. “I can smell it. What did you do?”

“All I did was ask him to fix my cell,” Stan said stoutly, holding up the offending phone. But as he spoke he scratched nervously at the back of his head. Derek recognized his tell—because it was the exact same thing Stiles did when he was trying to hide something.

“Bullshit,” Derek snapped. “And would you put that fucking thing out?” He waved irritably at the cigarette smoke that was making his eyes and nose sting.

“Hey, the kid said I could smoke in the yard, just not in the house.” 

Derek spoke through gritted teeth again. “It’s my fucking yard. And I say put it out.”

“Okay, okay. Jesus.” Stan stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his boot. He was about to flick the butt into the trees, but at Derek’s glare, wisely tucked it in the pocket of his fatigue jacket instead. 

“Thank you,” Derek said tersely. “Now tell me why Stiles is upset.”

Stan sighed heavily. “I told him if he fixed my cell, I’d let him speak to his grandmother.”

Derek blinked. “That’s all?”

Stan held up both hands. “Swear to God.”

Derek folded his arms. “What did he say?”

Stan snorted. “He said hell, no. Fixed my phone but said he didn’t want to have anything to do with the House after the way they treated Anna. I told him my mother deeply regrets her actions, but he didn’t care.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Can you blame him?”

“Not really, no.” Stan gnawed at his thumbnail. “But…”

“But what?”

Stan held up the phone again. “But on the other side of the world, my mother is losing her shit.” 

“Why?”

“Are you KIDDING me?” Stan pulled his spiky hair in frustration, then scrubbed both hands across his unshaven jaw, muttering something about stupid wolves under his breath. Again, it was such a Stiles gesture that Derek had to smother a laugh.

But his amusement died when Stan stepped closer. The man’s eyes were bleak and exhausted, and, when he spoke, his voice was low.

“Listen, I was the one who helped Anna elope with Stilinski.”

“I know that, but—"

“For fuck’s sake, shut up and _listen_ to me.” 

Derek felt his hackles rise at Stan’s tone, but he forced himself to remain calm. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’m listening.”

Stan ran his hand over his jaw again. “I never told anyone where Anna was, _ever_. I swear to God.”

“I know that,” Derek said.

Stan shook his head with impatience. “You don’t understand! Even after I visited Anna that one time, I never told. Even after enough time had passed that she might have made peace with the family. Even when our father was _dying_ —” 

Stan broke off, breathing hard. When he spoke again, his voice was bitter. “I should have. I should have called her and told her. I should have let her choose for herself, but I didn’t.” 

Stan shook his head again, this time in disgust. “And then I got the phone call, after the fire. Anna had named me as her emergency contact,” he explained. “John was estranged from his family, so I was the only one listed.” 

Stan closed his eyes. “So then,” he said heavily, “I had to fly home to Poland and explain to my mother that, not only was her missing daughter dead, but her daughter had a child, who was also dead. And that I had known the whole time, and never told her.”

Stan opened his eyes and smiled grimly at Derek. “We didn’t speak again for years. Not until a week ago, when I went back to Kielce and told her I was having dreams about Anna—and Anna’s son. Then we heard about Król, I came here, and the rest you know.” Stan spread his hands wide. “After the fight, I called my mother from the ER and left a message telling her what happened.”

“She’s the one who called you last night,” Derek said, remembering. “When we were in Król’s apartment.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, she was thrilled to find out Staś is alive. Although, trust me, she’s a little freaked out that he’s been living among werewolves. She thinks being a were is catching.” 

Derek frowned. “Did you explain about the Bite?”

“Yeah.” Stan’s lips twisted. “She still wants to send my older brother Andrzej here to perform an exorcism on Staś. He’s a Catholic priest,” he added when Derek raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“He’s a witch _and_ a priest?” Derek asked.

Stan shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He rocked back on his heels, fidgeting with his phone. Clearly, he wanted another cigarette, but was fighting the urge. “Look, I talked to Scott this morning.”

Derek blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “Why?”

Stan shrugged. “I wanted to know more about the night Król had my sister murdered.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, feeling awkward.

Stan shook his head impatiently. “I’m not looking for pity. I just want to have as many facts at my fingertips as I can, for when have to I face the Council. Scott told me what he remembered, which wasn’t much. His mom was working at the ER the night of the fire, and when Staś was discharged she took him home. But by then he wasn’t talking, so he couldn’t tell anyone what happened—although they wouldn’t have believed him anyway, even if he told the truth.” 

Stan scowled. “And of course, nobody knew he was under a spell, not even the Mage.” His withering tone indicated his opinion of Deaton. “The humans figured he had selective mutism, whatever the hell that is.”

“Selective mutism is when—"

“I know what it is, for crying out loud!” Stan glared at Derek. “The point is, Staś was forced to see a bunch of doctors who thought he couldn’t speak because of _trauma_. One of them even suggested he learn sign language.”

Derek frowned. “But he’s not deaf.”

Stan laughed, his tone bitter. “According to Scott, that’s exactly what Staś said. He wasn’t deaf, so why would the hell would he learn sign language? The shrink pointed out it might help him _communicate_ better.” Stan made exaggerated air quotes around the word, managing to convey a world of sarcasm in the gesture. “Staś wrote her a reply. You wanna know what it said?” 

Derek winced. “Not really, but tell me.”

Stan smiled sardonically. “He wrote that he only wanted to _communicate_ with Scott. As far as everyone else was concerned, he only needed one sign, and that was his middle finger.”

Derek sighed. “Yeah, that sounds like Stiles. What’s your point?”

Stan moved closer “My point is, _that_ is the level of stubborn we’re dealing with. Someone who doesn't do a damn thing he doesn’t want to, even if it’s in his own best interest. Even if it would make his life a million times _easier_. In other words, a typical block-headed Serafin.”

Derek rubbed his eyes. The conversation had taken such an unexpected turn that his head was spinning. “And you’re telling me this why?”

“Because…” For a long moment, Stan studied the sky, which threatened rain again as the evening came on. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Derek. “Because I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Derek felt his hackles rise again. “About that, exactly?”

Stan fidgeted with his phone. “About Staś’ health. He’s not getting better.”

Derek stared at him in shock. “You said he needed rest and healing after what Król did to him, but that he would recover.”

“Yeah,” Stan drawled, scratching the back of his head. “That’s kinda the part where I lied.”

“Are you kidding me?” Even as he gaped at Stan, Derek felt a chill run through him. “What’s wrong with him?”

Stan shrugged. “Like I said before, if a witch wields that kind of power without replenishing it…”

Derek remembered what Stan had told him the night Król attacked. “It could kill him.” 

“Exactly. Especially if the witch is untrained.” 

Derek turned abruptly and walked away, his stomach churning. He stared into the darkening forest, remembering a moment from the day before: 

_When Derek touched Stiles’ skin, black veins sprouted on his hands._

_Derek frowned. “Are you in pain?”_

_Stiles batted his hands away in irritation. “I’m fine.”_

“He’s hurting,” Derek said, swinging around to face Stan again. “He told me he’s fine, but—”

“But he’s lying.” Stan smiled thinly. “It runs in the family.”

Derek strode toward him again. “What do we do?”

“There are healers among my people—"

“We’ll bring them here,” Derek interrupted. “How soon can you make it happen?” 

Stan grimaced. “It’s not that simple. Remember when I told you witches get our power from nature, usually from a specific place?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So the most powerful healers in my House, my mother among them, live in the mountains near Kielce.”

Derek stared at Stan. “You’re talking about taking Stiles back to Poland.”

Stan took a deep breath. “I am.”

Derek’s heart pounded. His breath came short. “This conversation is over,” he said, then turned away.

“The hell it is!” Stan grabbed Derek’s arm.

“Don’t touch me!” Derek roared, but Stan hung on tenaciously. He even pulled Derek toward him until they were face to face. His blue eyes blazed.

“Listen to me, Alpha! If you love my nephew at all, listen to me!”

That, and the use of Derek’s title, brought him up short. The killing madness subsided a little. “I’m listening,” he gritted out.

In return, Stan relaxed his grip a fraction. “Staś needs to heal—not just from what Król did this week, but from everything that’s happened so him since the fire. And he needs training. You’ve seen our kind of magic in action. It’s powerful but also fucking dangerous.”

Derek frowned. “You mean calling down the lightning?”

“Exactly,” Stan said. “You gotta ground that shit, or you’ll burn up. Literally.”

He let go of Derek and stepped back. “Look,” he said, pulling open his jacket and shirt to display the tattoo on his chest—an angel with wings of fire. “The Serafin are conduits between earth and sky. What we draw down from above, we have to replenish from below. Learning that takes time and practice and patience. Back home, Stas can use our grounding, our boundaries, until he develops his own. Right now, he’s vulnerable. Król fed off his magic as easily as a tick sucks blood, and it almost killed him. It still could. Do you get that?”

“Yeah,” Derek ground out. “I get it.”

Stan held out his hands in a gesture of peace. ”I will be completely honest with you, Alpha Hale,” he said, keeping his words slow and clear. “My original plan was to kidnap my nephew and take him back to Poland against his will.”

Derek growled as his anger surged again. “Then you’d be dead.”

“You think I can’t do it?” Stan sneered. “I could put Staś under a spell that would make him my puppet, at least for the space of two days. Long enough to get him out of the country. If any of your pack tried to stop me, I’d fry them with bolts from the sky.”

Stan took a deliberate step back. “But I didn’t,” he said. “I came to you instead.”

“Why?” Derek growled.

Stan sighed. In the rapidly dimming light, his face looked exhausted. “Because we both know what would happen,” he said sourly. “As soon as Staś was strong enough or found an opportunity, he’d escape and come back here. Because, as I was saying earlier, he’s that stubborn.” He hesitated. “And because that’s how much he loves you.”

Derek looked at him in surprise, and Stan rolled his eyes. “For Christ’s sake,” he said irritably. “I’m not an ogre, or an idiot. I know true love when I see it. The way Staś looks at you is the same way Anna looked at John. That doesn’t mean like it,” he added. “But I know better than to fight it. And I’m pretty sure you love him the same way he loves you.”

“I do,” Derek said.

“And that’s why I’m telling you this,” Stan said. “Because you—" He poked Derek in the chest for emphasis. Derek resisted the urge to bite his finger off. “You, Alpha Hale, have to be the one to convince Staś to go. Because if you truly love him, then you’ll do what’s best for him, not what’s best for you. Right?”

“Right.” Derek’s chest felt hollow. His heart ached.

Stan rolled his eyes again. “For crying out loud,” he said “I’m not talking about forever.”

Derek felt a spark of hope. “You’re not?” 

“No. Just for a year or so.” Stan shrugged. “Which, frankly, solves your little age difference dilemma. Staś stays in Poland until he learns magic and is of legal age. Then, if he still wants to date you or mate with you or whatever, fine.”

Derek glared balefully at him. “How do I know you won’t try to pressure him to break it off?”

Stan shrugged again. “Like I said, I know a lost cause when I see one. I’ve also seen what happens when families interfere in love,” he said bitterly. “I swear I won’t do to Staś what my parents did to Anna.”

“God.” Derek rubbed his face with his hands. His fingertips felt cold. “Stiles won’t like this.”

Stan laughed. “No shit.”

Derek winced. “And I’ll have to talk to my Alpha.” 

“And he’ll have to treat with the head of my House.” Stan sniffed dismissively. “The Emissary can make the arrangements. He’s not completely useless. But it needs to happen quickly. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Derek said tiredly. “But how do you know the Head of your House will agree to it?”

Stan stared at him. “Because I just talked to her.”

Derek blinked. “Your mother is the Head of your House?”

“Well, duh. What did you think?”

“I don't know." Derek rubbed his temple, where a headache was forming. "The other night, you said Stiles was the grandson of the most powerful witch in Poland. I figured someone else took over when your father died.”

“Hello? Sexist much? My mother is the most powerful witch in Poland. She always has been. _She_ took over when my father died. And right now she wants her grandson back.”

Derek bristled. “I won’t force Stiles to go against his will.”

Stan raised his eyebrows. “Not even to save his life?”

“Shit.” Derek closed his eyes in frustration. There was a thrumming under his skin that made it hard to think. His wolf couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from his mate. At the same time, Derek knew Stan was right: Stiles was dying. And if Derek had to break his heart to save his life, he would do it.

“Stiles,” he said, opening his eyes.

Stan blinked. “What’s that?”

Derek raised his chin. “Stiles. It’s the name he chose for himself. If you want this to work, if you want to have any sort of relationship with your nephew, you have to respect his choices. Start with his name.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll call him Stiles. I’ll call him SpongeBob if it helps.” Stan held out his hand. “Now do we have a deal or not?” 

For a long moment, Derek wavered. Then he took a deep breath and reached for Stan’s hand.

As he did, Stan’s eyes widened. “Look out!”

With surprising strength, he shoved Derek out of the way, sending him sprawling. 

Even as Derek fell, a clawed hand descended, so fast that he felt the air rush past his ear.

Stan screamed in pain, his voice startling the night birds from the trees. He stumbled backward, lines of red appearing across the fabric of his shirt, and fell heavily.

For a heartbeat, he stared down at the welling blood on his chest in shock. The he looked up at his attacker. 

The werewolf looming over him was tall and powerful, but misshapen and bent, with a rank odor.

The creature raised its claws again, and Stan’s eyes widened further in horror.

Derek snapped out of his paralysis. Scrambling to his feet, he roared in challenge. The wolf turned at bay, hissing in rage. In the evening shade, its eyes burned a cold shade of blue.

 _Murderer_ , Derek thought as a chill swept through him. Only those who had taken an innocent life had eyes that color.

“Get back!” he barked at Stan, who hastened to obey.

Derek’s claw and fangs emerged as he and the attacker circled each other, growling and slavering, each searching the other for signs of weakness.

Derek knew better than to underestimate his opponent. The beast was powerfully built and had killed before, no doubt leading to his banishment. Livid scars stood out across his neck where his alpha’s mark had been erased, while his stench and his unkempt fur further bespoke his rogue status. (No pack animal would ever be so careless in grooming.)

It was why being designated rogue was the worst punishment that could befall a were, why many begged for death rather than endure it: Wolves simply weren’t built to live alone. The loneliness of being without a pack eventually drove most rogues mad, isolation leading to insanity.

The danger, of course, was that this rogue had no fear and no hesitation, having lost all natural instinct to submit to an alpha. He was like a berserker, a witch-warrior possessed by the spirit of a bear. They felt no pain, only killing rage, wreaking devastation on their foes while enduring wounds that would easily fell a normal man.

The battle was brutal but brief. Fortunately, the rogue’s madness lent him strength, but not control. After several skirmishes, he over-reached on a swipe meant to take off Derek’s head. Instead, he blinked in belated surprise as Derek eviscerated him.

The rogue fell to his knees, clutching his spreading guts. Derek stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion. 

Stan approached cautiously, leveling his gun.

“Sorry,” he told Derek. “I couldn’t get a clear shot.”

Derek shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “It’s okay.”

He straightened and approached the rogue, preparing himself for the final killing blow. It had to be done, he knew, even though part of him pitied the creature.

“Any last words?” he asked. No doubt the rogue’s former Clan would disavow all knowledge of him, but there might be a Pack member—a mother or a mate, perhaps— who deserved to know of his fate.

The rogue tossed aside the greasy strands of hair that hung in his face, even though the effort clearly caused him pain. “Yeah.”

“Well?” Derek asked impatiently when the rogue hesitated. 

The rogue grinned up at Derek, bloody foam oozing between his fangs. “Gotcha,” he whispered, then toppled forward and lay still.

For a moment, there was silence in the clearing. Stan lowered his gun, blinking in puzzlement

“What the hell?” he asked.

Even as he spoke, Derek was turning, running desperately toward the house.

But he knew in his heart he was too late. From inside the house, he heard a terrible crashing noise, followed by an all-too-familiar roar.

_Kate._

 

***  
***

Translation of Polish, courtesy of Enid. (Any mistakes are mine, not hers.)

 _Twój brat mógłby pomóc, jako ksiądz—_ / Your brother could help, as a priest—

 _Mamo to przesada! Nie mieszaj w to Andrzeja._ / Mom, it's too much! Don't bring Andrzej into this.

 _Mam jednego wnuka i zrobię wszystko aby wrócił do domu!_ / I have one grandson and I will do everything to bring him back home!

 _Staś jest bezpieczny ze mną, mam to pod kontrolą._ / Staś is safe and sound with me. I got this under control. 

_Wierzę Ci ale..._ / I believe you but...

 _Wkrótce wrócimy do Kielc i będziemy znowu razem, obiecuję. Nic nie stanie nam na drodze._ / Soon we will be back in Kielce, together again, I promise. Nothing will stand in our way.

 _Czekam na Was, powiedz Stasiowi, że go kocham._ / I'm waiting for you, say to Stas that I love him.


	57. Chapter 57

When last we left our heroes...

_The rogue grinned up at Derek, bloody foam oozing between his fangs. “Gotcha,” he whispered, then toppled forward and lay still._

_For a moment, there was silence in the clearing. Stan lowered his gun, blinking in puzzlement_

_“What the hell?” he asked._

_Even as he spoke, Derek was turning, running desperately toward the house._

_But he knew in his heart he was too late. From inside the house, he heard a terrible crashing noise, followed by an all-too-familiar roar._

_Kate._

And now, Chapter 57...

***

As Derek gained the porch steps, Laura’s body flew out the front door and collided with him, sending them both sprawling onto the lawn. Precious seconds were lost while they untangled themselves, Laura spitting curses and blood the entire time.

“It’s Kate,” she told Derek. “She’s got Stiles.”

Derek scrambled to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

Laura shook her head. “Just pissed. Bitch caught me by surprise. Go!”

Derek thundered back up the steps with Laura behind him. Stan brought up the rear, gun drawn. 

Kate’s scent was fresh in the house, mingled with Stiles’, but both stopped abruptly at the cellar door.

“Kate!” Derek threw his body against the door, but it refused to budge. Kate had locked it behind her. “God-dammit, open this door!”

Laura put a hand on his shoulder. “Save your strength, little brother. She’s long gone. She took the tunnels,” she added when Derek stared at her in confusion.

“The tunnels?”

“The escape tunnels, under the house. You don’t remember exploring them when we were kids?”

Derek shook his head, and Laura’s face softened. 

“No, that’s right,” she said. “I remember now. You were afraid of the dark, so Margery took you for a walk in the woods.”

“That must be how Kate got into the house,” Derek realized. “But how the hell did she know about them if I didn’t?”

Laura shrugged helplessly. “A lot of older homes have tunnels, in case of hunters. She must have found an entrance in the forest.”

“That means she’s been on my territory for a while.” Derek’s blood boiled at the thought.

“I don’t get it,” Stan interrupted. “Who the hell is Kate?”

Derek pounded his fist on the door one last time, then paced the hall, grinding his teeth in rage. “Kate is my fiancée. _Ex_ -fiancée,” he added as Stan’s eyes widened. 

“Derek and Kate had an arranged marriage,” Laura explained. “Derek broke things off after he met Stiles.”

“And she didn’t take it well?” Stan asked sarcastically. “I can’t imagine why.”

“I never thought she’d go this far.” Derek met Laura’s eyes, and she nodded grimly.

“I barely recognized her. God, Derek, she was my best friend.”

Stan interrupted impatiently. “Where do these tunnels lead?”

“There are two main branches,” Laura said. “One leads to the main road; the other deeper into the preserve, toward the cliffs.”

“I’ll take the preserve,” Derek said. “You take the road.”

“I’m going with you,” Stan told Derek.

“The hell you are.”

“Listen, you arrogant—"

“You’re bleeding out,” Derek snapped. “You’ll only slow me down.”

“I am?” Stan parted the bloody ribbons of his shirt front and stared blankly at the oozing lacerations on his chest. “Aw, crap, I am.” He swayed on his feet, thudded against the wall, and slowly slid down it. 

Laura pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll call Alphonse. If Kate has a car waiting on the road, he can cut her off.”

“Good idea.” Derek didn’t let himself think of the alternative—that Kate would kill Stiles quickly.

“She’ll keep him alive,” Laura said, reading his thoughts. “At least for now.”

Derek nodded stiffly. “I know.”

Derek’s phone rang, and his heart jumped. He scrambled for the cell, which he’d left in the hall when he went for his run.

But it wasn’t Kate’s name on the caller ID—it was Scott’s. No doubt he’d sensed his Alpha’s distress.

Almost at the same moment, Laura’s phone rang as well.

“It’s Erika,” she said. “Should I—"

“No.”

Laura looked at him in surprise.

“This is between me and Kate,” Derek said. “I don’t want the pack involved.”

“Kate may have other rogues with her,” Laura argued. 

Derek set his jaw. “Then they’re dead.”

“Am I going to turn into a werewolf now?” Stan asked plaintively from the floor.

“A rogue can’t turn you, only an Alpha,” Derek told him. “You might get a nasty infection, though.”

“Good to know. Aw, damn,” Stan complained, looking at his chest again. “My tattoo is _fucked_.” He toppled over, unconscious before he hit the floor.

“Take care of him,” Derek told Laura. “Call Melissa if you have to.”

Derek headed out the front door, then leapt on the porch railing, raised his head, and sniffed the air. Darkness had fallen by now, and the rain started again. It would make it harder to follow Kate’s scent.

“Derek, wait!” The screen door banged as Laura followed him onto the porch. 

He turned impatiently. “What?”

“You know this is a trap, right?”

“I know,” Derek said quietly. “But I have to do this.” He jumped off the railing onto the wet grass.

“Derek!”

Derek turned again. The front porch light burned behind Laura, curling around her silhouette like a halo, but masking her face in shadow. In the darkness, her eyes burned red.

“Good hunting, Alpha.”

Derek gave a curt nod in reply, then turned and plunged into the storm, shifting into full wolf form as he ran.

***

Once he’d reached the heart of the preserve, Derek quickly found the entrance to the tunnel, hidden in a ravine among tumbled boulders. The mingled Kate-and-Stiles scent was faint but still palpable. 

Derek heaved a sigh of relief. Despite the rain, he was still able to track his prey. 

Then again, he reminded himself, Kate wasn’t trying to hide. She was trying to draw him out, using Stiles as bait. He needed to be cautious.

Derek shifted into human form, the better to clear his head. He momentarily cursed himself that he hadn’t changed clothes before he transformed. He was still in the outfit he’d worn for his initial run—sweatpants and nothing else—and was quickly sodden.

He stood for a moment to ground and get his bearings, letting the rain rinse the blood from his skin. It was all that remained of his battle with the rogue; his injuries had quickly healed.

As the blood sluiced off, the rage cleared from his mind, leaving only a clear sense of purpose.

Kill Kate.

It was the reason he hadn’t wanted the pack’s help. They were just teenagers. They didn’t need to see what their Alpha had to do. 

Derek had banished Kate from his territory in the presence of witnesses. Even if she hadn’t taken his mate, the punishment was death. If she had simply trespassed, Derek would have let her leave rather than carrying out the sentence--were laws be damned. As it was…

Derek straightened his shoulders. As it was, he had no other option. He would be as quick and merciful as he could, but Kate Monroe would not leave his forest alive.

Derek headed uphill, toward the cliffs, picking his way among the wet and slippery boulders. The scent was indeed growing fainter, but Derek had an idea, sparked by what Laura had told him.

_“A lot of older homes have tunnels, in case of hunters. Kate must have found an entrance in the forest.”_

There was another feature that older werewolf homes often had. 

Derek shook his head. Even after a few short months, he knew these woods like the pad of his paw. If there was such a place, surely he would have found it by now. 

Then again, he reminded himself, such places were meant to be hidden—and for good reason.

He remembered describing one when telling the fairy tale of Mara and Kaius to his pack.

_“On her way to the wedding, Mara was attacked by fearsome witches. She defeated them, but the battle delayed her journey by a day. Kaius’ people mocked him, saying Mara had abandoned her troth. But Kaius knew his mate’s love was true. 'I will wait for her,’ he said, ‘until the end of time.’”_

_“Wearing Mara’s collar,” Derek continued, “Kaius went to the…uh…” He hesitated._

_“Honeymoon palace,” he said finally. He didn’t think the enraptured teenage girls on the couch would appreciate the term ‘breeding chamber.’ Nor the fact that the happy couple were not allowed to leave until it was confirmed that they were, in fact, breeding pups. After all, Derek thought grimly, there was a reason the Alpha’s mate wore a collar._

By tradition, a newly wedded Alpha and mate would remain secluded in the remote dwelling, not just for privacy but for safety: An Alpha in full mated lust would see any other wolf as an intruder, and had been known to kill kin and close friends without recognizing them. 

Instead, the mated pair would be attended by a small cadre of Omegas. It was considered a great honor to be chosen for the task. In older times, if the Alpha were male and his mate female, one or two of the Omegas would be impregnated as well. That way, if the Alpha’s mate were to die in childbirth, a wet nurse would be available to nourish the all-important heir. 

Derek chuckled to himself as he scrambled up a steep incline slippery with mud. He could just imagine his pack’s response to such barbaric customs. They would scoff at his explanation that the positon was a highly sought-after honor. After all, the child of such a union, although technically never recognized as legitimate offspring, was often given a position of responsibility and relative privilege in the Alpha’s household.

Werewolf lore contained many popular stories of such “milk siblings.” Not only were they considered lucky, but they often took the role of trickster or jester, their antics and adventures providing a welcome relief from the heavy weight of werewolf custom and law.

Derek stopped short, as suddenly as if he’d run into a wall.

He’d remembered a face.

_It was Thomas the limo driver, his father’s errand boy. This was the first time Derek had seen him without his sunglasses, and the man’s eyes were startlingly pale in his dark skin._

“Shit!” Derek cursed. He punched the nearest tree, growling with satisfaction as it toppled slowly into the ravine. 

But surely, they wouldn’t, he argued with himself. No one did that shit anymore, not in these modern times. 

_“How long have you worked for my father, Thomas?” Derek asked._

_“All my life, Alpha.”_

Derek cursed again, then crouched and rubbed his eyes, which were starting to sting. Was there no end to his family’s secrets and lies?

For a moment, he stayed there, bowed down with the weight of it all, while the rain beat on top of his head and ran down his face like tears.

Then, a voice...

“Derek!”

Derek lifted his head. 

More frantically: “Derek!”

The cry cut off abruptly, as if the person had been silenced. Derek was still getting used to hearing the voice after months of silence, but he knew it instantly. 

Stiles.

Derek rose to his feet, threw back his head, and howled.

It was foolish, he knew, to warn Kate that he was near, but he didn’t care. He had to let Stiles know he was coming for him.

He shifted, dropping back down to all fours, then ran in the direction of the call.

***

When he found the place, Derek half-shifted, keeping his fangs and claws at the ready but allowing himself the brief indulgence of cursing his family all over again.

It turns out the Hale honeymoon palace wasn’t a palace. It wasn’t a house, or a lodge, or a cabin. It wasn’t even a fucking shack.

It was a cave.

“A motherfucking cave,” Derek muttered to himself. 

Of course, he thought bitterly, the Hales just had to be fucking traditionalists. 

He could see why his ancestors had chosen it. The entrance was tucked into the side of rocky, wooded slope. Gigantic tree roots tangled around it, and a long rounded boulder sloped above like a curved, sneering lip. 

Derek knew a wild wolf mother would have approved in an instant: Any intruder would have to climb halfway up the cliff to gain access, giving advance warning to those in the cave. Meanwhile, having a single entrance would give her the best chance of defending her pups if they were attacked. 

Unfortunately, it made it easier for Kate to defend as well.

Derek approached as silently as he could. There was a light burning deep in the cave—ordinary firelight as far as he could tell—but the air seemed to vibrate, accompanied by a fading phosphorescent glow and a signature metallic scent he recognized as Stiles’ magic. 

Derek grimaced, remembered Stan’s warning that Stiles risked death if he did magic again. Derek now regretted he hadn’t dragged the pesky older witch with him, injuries or no. 

Stiles’ heartbeat was slow and slightly unsteady. Derek could feel it thudding hesitantly in his own chest, like a bird tapping against a tree.

Tamping down his growing panic, he slipped inside the entrance, where a tunnel led upward, further inside the hill. Again, Derek’s wild ancestor approved. The cave would be warm and dry in any weather, making it a safe haven for pups.

Derek inched his way up the slope, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself in check. His wolf wanted to run, to attack. But Derek could smell Kate, her scent slightly sour, while her ragged breathing echoed in the cave.

Derek had nearly gained the top of the tunnel and could see that it opened out into a larger space. Firelight flickered red against the walls. He knew that once he stepped into the open, Kate could attack him from any angle.

He never expected her to drop from the ceiling.

*** 

If Kate had lit on Derek’s shoulders, she would have had a fair shot at breaking his neck.

As it was, she landed lightly just behind him. Quick as a snake, she struck, plunging a needle deep into Derek’s neck, at the junction where it met his shoulder. In his peripheral vision, Derek could see a syringe filled with a deep violet liquid. 

“Wolfsbane,” Kate whispered. “A particularly potent blend.”

Derek froze. He could tell by the color that the dose was even stronger than the one his Uncle Malcolm had given him.

“Kate, you’ll kill me,” he said urgently. “I’m allergic now.”

Kate laughed. “So I hear. How convenient for me.”

Derek frowned. “Who told you—" He broke off as Kate pierced the needle deeper into his skin. 

“Uh, uh,” she warned. “I push this thing…” She tapped her thumb on the plunger. “You die in agony.”

Derek swallowed. “Okay, okay. Let’s just stay calm.”

“Shift,” Kate ordered.

Derek blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Shift,” she said again. Her tone became sneering. “I want you fully human for this, since you like them so much.”

Derek gritted his teeth, but obeyed. His claws and fangs disappeared. He knew that even in his human state, he was stronger than Kate, but he still felt vulnerable. Kate had obviously gone feral, giving her added power and ferocity. It was the only way she’d able to beat Laura in a skirmish.

Kate placed her left hand on Derek’s left shoulder, her claws pricking his skin. Her right held the needle steady in the side of his neck. 

“Walk forward,” she ordered. “Slowly. No sudden moves.”

“Kate, this is insane,” Derek said as they moved up the last few feet of the slope. “You can’t attack an Alpha on his own land, or his mate, and expect get away with it.”

“Insane?” Kate laughed, tucking her chin on Derek’s shoulder. The firelight grew stronger as they approached the cave, and Derek could see her eyes glittering. Her hair was tangled and her scent sour, further evidence she had gone rogue. 

“What I am, Derek,” Kate continued, “is liberated. All my life I played by the rules, and what did it get me? Humiliation and disgrace. Now I’m making my own rules. Stop,” she added as they reached the cave.

Derek stopped, blinking his eyes in the brighter light. When they adjusted, he saw a large, open, curved chamber, the far walls and ceiling lost in shadow. A small fire burned in a metal brazier. 

“Move forward,” Kate ordered. “Slow, or you die.” Her claws tightened their grip in Derek’s shoulder.

Derek walked slowly forward, past the brazier. There were no furnishings anymore, except for a large dais that Derek knew would have once held a bed. A few tattered tapestries in still hung on the walls, woven in red. 

Derek suddenly recalled the brothel in Los Angeles, with the room that had been a parody of tradition.

_Most of the doors were closed, but Derek glanced into one as a patron swiped a key card and entered, ducking his head to avoid Derek’s eyes. Inside was an enormous bed, draped in red like a bridal chamber. A collared young man, chained to the bed, knelt submissively on the floor, disappearing from view as the client closed the door behind him._

Derek’s heartrate increased, and his palms sweated.

Sure enough, Stiles was lying on the floor at the foot of the dais. A heavy chain was attached to the collar around his neck, the end disappearing into the darkness beyond. He was breathing, but appeared to be unconscious, and there was a large, darkening bruise on his temple.

“He tried to warn you,” Kate giggled, “so I had to put him to sleep. Poor little pup.”

Derek shook with silent fury. “You bitch. You’ll die for this.”

Kate laughed again.

Then another voice joined in, echoing overhead. 

A light tenor voice, teasing and sly.

The chain tightened suddenly, striking against the wood of the dais with a crack as loud as a gunshot.

Despite himself, Derek jumped in alarm.

He held his breath as a slim, handsome figure emerged from the shadows, holding the chain. With the grace of a cat, the figure leapt onto the dais.

The heavy links of the chain thumped hollowly against the wood as the figure walked the length of the dais, its face still in shadow, then sat cross-legged at the foot.

As he did so, the firelight illuminated his features, and his head tilted in a mischievous smile. 

“Derek,” he purred. “Welcome to our little party.”

Derek stared in horror and disbelief.

He shuddered, and his blood ran cold as he whispered the name.

“Peter.”


	58. Chapter 58

Hello, dear readers! Thanks for your patience! This chapter is so long I had to split it in two--the next part will be up soon. In the meantime, let's all keep a good thought for Dylan, okay?

***

When last we left our heroes…

_The heavy links of the chain thumped hollowly against the wood as the figure walked the length of the dais, its face still in shadow, then sat cross-legged at the foot._

_As he did so, the firelight illuminated his features, and his head tilted in a mischievous smile._

_“Derek,” he purred. “Welcome to our little party.”_

_Derek stared in horror and disbelief._

_He shuddered, and his blood ran cold as he whispered the name._

_“Peter.”_

And now…Chapter 58

***

Outside the cave lay wet, heavy darkness, filled with the patter of raindrops in the trees. Normally, it was one of Derek’s favorite sounds. Nothing lulled him to sleep like the night song of rain in the forest. But now it felt dangerous, suffocating, like the rumble of thunder as a storm approached.

Likewise, the rich earth-smell of the cavern should have been comforting. After all, it was the sacred den of his ancestors, the place where wolves were made and whelped and nourished, where life began and the pack grew strong. Instead, it felt claustrophobic and menacing.

Derek’s heart beat like a drum, so strong it sounded in his ears and throbbed in his temples and throat. The scent of wolfsbane made him dizzy while the sight of his injured mate made his head swim with confusion and distress.

And all these fearful sensations centered on the figure seated on the dais. His razor-sharp teeth and claws gleamed white, while the red firelight on his skin seemed to paint him with blood.

“Peter,” Derek whispered again. Like the tumblers in a lock, all the pieces fell into place in his mind. This was how Kate knew about the tunnels to Hale House, he realized. No doubt it was how she’d gained entrance in the first place, as well as making her escape once she’d grabbed Stiles. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Kate spoke.

“On your knees,” she ordered. 

Derek obeyed—partly to play for time, but mostly because his knees were so weak with shock he could barely stand. 

Likewise, a million questions raced through his brain, but he was so overwhelmed that only one managed to get past his lips. 

“How?”

“My dear Derek,” Peter purred, “be more specific. Do you mean, how am I alive? How came I here? How is it that I find myself in cahoots with your erstwhile fiancée?”

“Pick one,” Derek growled.

“Hmmmm...” Peter tilted his head, and Derek caught sight of a livid burn mark that ran down the side of his cheekbone, marring his handsome face, then disappeared under his collar. “As for how I am alive, I would call that a miracle.”

Peter paused. “No, on second thought, not a miracle, but rather…destiny.” His voice caressed the word lovingly. “Somehow, I was revived after the fire and cared for until I healed. As for Miss Kate, our alliance is recent, but mutually beneficial. I approached her a week ago when I realized that our interests coincided.” 

Derek frowned, trying to focus. So much had occurred in the past week that he had difficulty keeping the events in order. Today was Sunday, he knew, and the Sunday prior the Hale Clan’s elite guards, under Malcolm’s command, had dragged Derek away from his pack, drugged him with wolfsbane, and taken him to Los Angeles, all because...

All because Kate had found out about Stiles, Derek remembered, and tried to kill him. Instead, Derek had broken off their engagement, banished Kate, and pledged his life and love to Stiles.

He remembered the pack surrounding him, proud and excited, as he made his move.

_Derek pulled the Hale collar from his pocket. Quick as lightning, he slipped it around Stiles’ neck, fastened the clasp, and spoke the traditional phrase: “Please accept this as a symbol of my troth." Ignoring the shouts of outrage from the guards, he wrapped his hand around Stiles’ neck and pulled him into a kiss._

Derek’s confusion grew. As far as he knew, no one outside the immediate family was aware that he had broken up with Kate and collared Stiles instead. As a matter of fact, Grayson had gone to extreme lengths to hush the matter up, involving only his most trusted Betas in Derek’s abduction. Derek remembered how empty and quiet the house had been when he’d woken from his mysterious illness...

_Derek paused at the foot of the grand staircase, trying to breathe deeply to steady his nerves. But the air felt sterile and suffocating. Scents seemed deadened – potpourri instead of fresh flowers, air conditioning instead of a cool breeze through the forest. It was unnaturally quiet, far too quiet for such a busy household. Derek suspected the majority of the staff had been sent away, lest word of the scandal spread._

But Peter knew, Derek realized. A full week ago, he had known that Derek and Kate had broken up. That was why he had approached Kate to form an alliance. And not only that…

_As Derek woke, Kara smiled and squeezed Derek’s hand, her rings pressing painfully into his skin. Her luxuriant red hair, backlit by the sun, was like a fiery halo around her head. “How do you feel, darling?”_

_Derek hesitated, cautiously moving his limbs. He felt weak, but not dizzy or in pain. “Better, I guess. What the hell happened to me?”_

_Kara let out a breath of relief, then gently stroked his hair. “You had a severe allergic reaction to wolfsbane.” Her voice trembled. “You nearly died.”_

Derek blinked as another tumbler fell into place. Again, no one outside the immediate family knew Derek had been ill that very week, nor that he had suddenly developed an allergy to wolfsbane. Yet even now, Kate held a needle of the sedative in his neck, knowing full well it would kill him.

Derek stared at Peter as the implications became clear. The realization must have shown on his face, because Peter’s smile became even more smug.

“Ah, yes.” Peter inclined his head modestly. “My spies are everywhere.”

Derek sank back on his heels, overcome with shock. There was a traitor in the Hale household, maybe more than one, who had reported to Peter all the events of the previous week. And Peter had said he had been rescued and cared for after the fire. Did that mean his spies had found and healed him?

Derek’s thoughts were interrupted by Stiles muttering in his sleep, a sure sign he was close to consciousness but not happy about it. (For someone who was so alert and energetic, Stiles always had to be forcibly dragged from sleep.) Derek’s heart leapt in relief, but he sternly repressed his reaction, praying that Peter hadn’t noticed. 

_Keep him talking_ , he told himself.

“You said your interests coincided with Kate’s,” he said. “What exactly are your interests these days?” 

“My goal, as always,” Peter said airily, “is to reclaim my rightful rank as High Alpha of the Hale Clan.”

“By killing your brother,” Derek said flatly.

“Exactly.”

Stiles muttered again. The blood and bruise on his temple shown lividly, but Derek could sense that his heartbeat was steady—or as steady as it got for Stiles. With a sick feeling, Derek remembered Stan’s warning that, unless his magic was replenished, Stiles would die soon. 

Derek realized Peter was watching him closely. He cleared his throat, trying to beat back panic. “You’d need an army to unseat Grayson.”

Peter inclined his head again. “Precisely.”

Derek snorted in derision, please when Peter’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Even if you kill me, the Beacon Hills Pack will never follow you again.”

Peter gave an airy wave of his hand. “Teenagers are more trouble than they’re worth. No, I’ve been building a new army, an army of exiles.”

Derek’s heart sank. “The Rogue who attacked me tonight,” he said slowly. “He was one of yours.”

“Indeed.” Peter leaned forward abruptly, and in the dim lighting his eyes burned blue with madness. “Do you have any idea how many Rogues are out there, hiding in the shadows? Outcasts like me who have been unjustly thrown away, driven from werewolf society? _Erased_?” 

Peter leaned back, gloating. “For the first time in centuries, they have a leader. Someone who understands their cause, their pain.” He spread his arms wide, and his eyes flashed red. “Thanks to them, I am an Alpha again. And they’ll follow me to the ends of the earth to have their revenge.”

Derek remembered the Rogue’s attack.

_Scrambling to his feet, Derek roared in challenge. The wolf turned at bay, hissing in rage. In the evening shade, its eyes burned a cold shade of blue._

_**Murderer** , Derek thought as a chill swept through him._

Peter was right, he realized. The Rogue had knowingly sacrificed himself in order to give Kate enough time to kidnap Stiles. God only knew what an army of them would be willing to do.

As if sensing Derek’s alarm, Stiles twitched slightly, his dark eyelashes fluttering. Again, Derek tried to keep the focus on himself.

“What about you, Kate?” he asked loudly. “What are you getting out of the deal?”

“I’m getting my mate back,” she said curtly. 

Derek laughed incredulously. “Are you insane? Do you seriously think we can just go back to the way things were?”

Kate’s grip tightened in anger, her claws sinking into Derek’s shoulder until it bled. “Yes, once you’ve been properly broken of your habit.”

“Stiles isn’t my habit,” Derek growled. “And for the record, you’re not my mate—he is.” 

Stiles twitched again in reaction to Derek’s voice. His chest rose, his heartbeat growing stronger, and a little color returned to his pale complexion.

 _Hang in there, baby_ , Derek thought. _Help is coming_. 

But he felt another shiver of panic. He had told Laura not to inform his pack of Kate’s attack. He’d wanted to handle it himself, to shield them from his actions. Now he cursed his decision; still, he knew Laura would track him eventually. 

_Unless Peter had sent more Rogues after Laura…_

Derek cursed again, then sternly quelled his fear. He would sense if something had happened to his sister, he reminded himself. Besides, Laura was too smart and too strong—too ruthless—to be beaten by anyone. 

_Although Kate had beaten her earlier that evening…_

Again, Derek quelled his traitorous thoughts. Laura would come. In the meantime, he needed to continue stalling for time. He couldn't risk moving Stiles while he was unconscious, not when he didn't know the severity of his head injury.

Derek realized with alarm that Kate was tugging on his shoulder, urging him to stand.

“If you’ll excuse us,” she said archly to Peter, “we really need to be going.”

Peter pouted. “But the party’s just getting started.” He bent over and peered down at Stiles. “And the guest of honor hasn’t joined us yet.” 

Peter tilted his head, reminding Derek of a raptor eyeing its prey. “He looks so angelic when he sleeps, doesn’t he?” he asked Derek. “You’d never know he was such a scamp.” 

He nudged Stiles with the toe of his boot. Stiles flopped over on his back, but didn't wake. Peter drew back his foot and kicked him hard in the ribs.

Derek caught his breath as Stiles’ eyes flew open. 

For a split second, Stiles lay completely still as he stared up at Peter in horror

Then he scrambled away and dove for the darkness, his heart jack-rabbiting in terror.

Amused, Peter let him get a few feet away. Then he stood on the dais and viciously jerked back on the chain. As Derek watched in horror, Stiles was brought up short, his hands scrabbling at the collar around his neck.

Laughing, Peter reeled him in, dragging him back across the floor. Stiles long limbs flailed helplessly as he fought to escape.

“Stop!” Derek bellowed in rage. “Let him go!” His shift tore through him, his claws and fangs emerging so quickly his skin spurted blood.

But Kate was ready. “Don’t move!” she ordered as Derek started to scramble to his feet. She sank her claws deeper into his shoulder, dragging him back to his knees, and jabbed the needle further into his neck. Derek froze, cursing her.

As Stiles fetched up against the dais, Peter leapt down, as light yet deadly as a cat. Crouching, he wound his claws through the back of the Hale collar and hauled Stiles forcibly against him. With his other hand, he slid his claws through Stiles’ hair, then grabbed a handful and used it to tug his head back, forcing the boy to look up at him.

“Shhhhhh,” Peter whispered. “Be still.”

Stiles froze, although his body still shuddered with terror.

For a moment the cave was so quiet Derek could hear a drop of water fall in the far darkness. 

Then the fire crackled and spat sparks. The sudden smoke burned Derek’s eyes, while the dancing light made Peter’s scarred face appear even more distorted. 

Stiles’ chest heaved abruptly, and his breath grew loud and ragged in the echoing cave. Derek could sense his panic rising, and felt his own heart race in response.

“Shhhh,” Peter ordered again. “Breathe. Nice and easy.”

Stiles whimpered, but bit his lip and visibly got his body under control. His breathing and heartbeat gradually slowed, Derek’s own body reacting in tandem with his mate’s. 

“That’s right,” Peter crooned softly at Stiles. “Good boys obey their Alpha.”

At his words, Derek’s rage came roaring back, and he growled until his body shook.

Peter blithely ignored him. “You thought I was dead, didn’t you?” he asked Stiles. Not waiting for an answer, he tightened his grip on Stiles’ hair and used it to manipulate his head like a puppet’s, forcing him to nod.

“‘Yes, Alpha, I did,’” Peter said in a mocking sing-song. “Didn’t think I’d come back, did you?” he asked, then forced Stiles to shake his head. “‘No, Alpha, I didn’t.'”

Peter smiled, and his voice returned to normal.

“As it turns out,” he said, “I was dead for a while. But now I’m back and—how does the human saying go? Better than ever.” Peter released his grip on Stiles’ hair, then gently stroked a stray lock off his forehead with a single claw. “And I’m ready to get reacquainted with my favorite pack member.” 

Stiles clenched his eyes shut, tears leaking from corners. 

Pleased, Peter lowered his hand and encircled Stiles’ throat, pressing inward until Stiles' skin whitened under the tips of Peter's claws. Then he rested his forehead against Stiles' for a long moment. Stiles whimpered again and more tears slid down his cheeks. Derek could smell the salt on his skin, mingled with blood and sweat and fear.

Peter turned his head and smiled at Derek. Deliberately keeping his eyes locked with Derek’s, he put his moist lips against Stiles’ ear, his feral smile deepening as Stiles flinched in response. “Open your eyes, little one, and see who’s joined the party.”

Stiles’ eyes opened—and widened when he saw Derek and Kate

“Stiles,” Derek whispered.

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, then quickly bit his lip. 

It was a smart move, Derek realized. Chances were, Peter didn't yet know that Stiles could talk. His spies had reported the events in Grayson’s house in the past week—but that didn’t mean they knew everything that had happened in Beacon Hills, including Stan's arrival and the fight with Krol. Perhaps that could be used to Stiles' advantage.

Likewise, Stiles’ eyes darted around the cave, taking everything in, looking for an escape. He glared daggers at Kate when he saw the needle she held in Derek’s neck. Then he looked back at Derek, his gaze steady, and gave a tiny nod. 

Stiles’ meaning was clear: He had assessed the situation and was ready for anything. Moreover, he trusted Derek and would follow his lead.

Despite their dire circumstances, Derek felt his heart swell and his fear ebb.

 _I love you_ , he thought.

Behind him, Kate stiffened. “Enough,” she hissed. “I did my part,” she told Peter. “We’re leaving.”

“Keep your fur on,” Peter said mildly. “I’ve not finished gloating yet.”

Derek’s heart thudded as he felt a sudden surge of emotion: Fear, confusion, fury. Abruptly, his eyesight dimmed. The cave flickered in his vision, and he heard a distant howling—not with his ears, but with his deeper instincts. A shudder ran through him.

 _Pack_ , he thought, and then: _Danger_.

“That’s right,” Peter murmured softly. “My Rogues are tearing your Betas to pieces even as we speak. Easy,” he ordered as Stiles reacted, his clawed hand closing tighter around his throat. Stiles’ eyes burned with fury, and Derek felt the hair on the back of his neck start to rise with the familiar sensation of magic.

“No!” Again, Derek remembered Stan’s warning. “Stand down, Stiles,” he ordered. “I’ll handle this. Stand down,” he said again when Stiles glared at him.

Stiles scowled, but lowered his eyes in obedience. The tingling sensation in the air faded.

Derek forced himself to focus, to tune out his awareness of his pack. It killed him to do so—his Betas were fighting for their lives, he knew, and they needed their Alpha. But he also knew there was only one way to help them.

Derek turned to Peter. “You can have me,” he said. “But leave my pack out of this. You have no quarrel with them.” 

“I beg to differ, Derek,” Peter said. “I have a very specific quarrel with them. And that is…” His voice rose to a sudden bellow. “ **THAT THE ALPHA MUST BE OBEYED!** ” Peter’s roar echoed through the cave, and Stiles cringed under his grip.

Derek’s heart thudded even harder in his chest, but he spoke up. “When did the pack ever disobey you?”

Peter leaned forward, his face becoming mournful. “They left me, Derek,” he whispered. “They abandoned me in my hour of need and left me to burn. Do you know how much it _hurts_ , being burned alive?” He tilted his neck, exposing his scar to the firelight. “Why, the pain almost drove me mad.”

“The pack tried to save you that night,” Derek argued. “You said it yourself—you were dead. Once you were gone, they had every right to seek a new Alpha, and they did so according to the Law.”

Peter’s lip curled in a sneer. “And look who they got.” He gestured contemptuously at Derek. “The mongrel of the Hale Clan.”

His words gave Derek a desperate idea. For a second he hesitated, knowing the cost, then took a deep breath.

“That’s right,” he said, even as his voice shook. “I am a mongrel. Like sire, like son.”

***

There was a moment of stillness. 

Then Peter raised his eyebrows. 

“Ah,” he said softly. “You know?”

Derek clenched his jaw, then nodded. “I know.”

“Who told you?”

“My fa—" Derek broke off. “Grayson told me.”

Peter sat on the dais, absently loosening his grip on Stiles’ neck. Stiles sank to his knees with relief, shoulders heaving as he gasped for air. Derek couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Stiles. He knew his eyes would be filled with horror and loathing now that he knew the truth.

There was another long moment of silence, broken only by Stiles’ labored breathing. Then Peter spoke.

“I must admit,” he said, “I’m surprised. I thought my brother would take that particular secret to his grave.” Peter shook his head. “Of course, he made it perfectly clear that I would be killed if I ever told you the truth. Typical Grayson,” he added. “So overbearing, and such a hypocrite.”

Derek took a deep breath. His awareness of his Betas' plight tugged at him, but again he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. Only if he and Stiles escaped could he save his pack.

“Kate, are you hearing this?” he asked softly. “Everything you’ve been told about me is fiction. Grayson Hale isn’t my father. Peter is.”

“You lie,” she spat.

Derek laughed bitterly. “I wish I was lying,” he said. “But it’s the truth. Listen to my heartbeat,” he added when he felt Kate hesitate.

She paused; then Derek felt her start to shake. 

“Is this true?” she asked Peter. “No,” she snapped when Peter rolled his eyes. “Tell the truth, or I walk—and you can fight Derek all on your own.”

Pleased at the thought, Derek flexed his shoulders and bared his teeth at Peter. “Tell her,” he said through his teeth.

“Fine, fine.” Peter gave an exaggerated sigh. “After Laura, Grayson and Kara couldn’t have any more children. But they needed more, in case anything happened to Laura, so they took mine. What’s the human saying?” he asked. “’An heir and a spare?’” Peter gave a thin, feral smile. “Derek was the spare.”

Derek’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Ever since he had found out the truth, a part of him still hoped that it was a lie. A mistake, somehow, or a misunderstanding. But Peter’s words confirmed it.

Derek took another deep breath, then forced himself to raise his head and look at Stiles.

To his surprise, Stiles gazed calmly back at him. His dark eyes were still wet with tears, but there was no shock, no horror in them—just acceptance, and love.

“Oh, my God,” Derek murmured. “You knew.”


	59. Chapter 59

When last we left our heroes…

_“Kate, are you hearing this?” Derek asked softly. “Everything you’ve been told about me is fiction. Grayson Hale isn’t my father. Peter is.”_

_“You lie,” she spat._

_Derek laughed bitterly. “I wish I was lying,” he said. “But it’s the truth. Listen to my heartbeat,” he added when he felt Kate hesitate._

_She paused; then Derek felt her start to shake._

_“Is this true?” she asked Peter. “No,” she snapped when Peter rolled his eyes. “Tell the truth, or I walk—and you can fight Derek all on your own.”_

_Pleased at the thought, Derek flexed his shoulders and bared his teeth at Peter. “Tell her,” he said through his teeth._

_“Fine, fine.” Peter gave an exaggerated sigh. “After Laura, Grayson and Kara couldn’t have any more children. But they needed more, in case anything happened to Laura, so they took mine. What’s the human saying?” he asked. “‘An heir and a spare?’” Peter gave a thin, feral smile. “Derek is the spare.”_

_Derek’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Ever since he had found out the truth, a part of him still hoped that it was a lie. A mistake, somehow, or a misunderstanding. But Peter’s words confirmed it._

_Derek took another deep breath, then forced himself to raise his head and look at Stiles._

_To his surprise, Stiles gazed calmly back at him. His dark eyes were still wet with tears, but there was no shock, no horror in them—just acceptance, and love._

_“Oh, my God,” Derek murmured. “You knew.”_

And now…Chapter 59

***

Stiles bit his lip, then gave a brief nod.

“How?” Derek whispered.

Peter laughed. “Stiles figures everything out.” He reached down and tousled Stiles’ hair, laughing again when Stiles tried to jerk his head away from Peter’s touch. “It’s one of the reasons I enjoy his company so much.” 

Peter cocked his head, smirking at Derek. “And from what my spies tell me, you enjoy his company, too. Now, _this_ ,” he twisted his fingers in the collar, “must have given Grayson an aneurysm. He’s so prejudiced when it comes to humans.”

“Enough!” Kate said loudly. “You’re both disgusting!”

“Then why do you even want me, Kate?” Derek snapped. “Why don’t you just walk away?” 

“Like I said,” Kate growled, “you’re sick. I’m going to get you the help you need. You can thank me later.”

“What, when we’re married?” Derek asked incredulously. “You still think this is going to work?”

“I’ve made arrangements.” Kate’s voice was stubborn. “I’ll get you into rehab and then—“

“Into rehab?” Derek scoffed. “How the hell are you planning to get me out of this _cave_? If you shoot me with that much wolfsbane…” He nodded toward the needle. “I’ll die in minutes. Or are you planning to drag my corpse to Malibu?”

Peter spoke. “My Rogues will help her. Like she said, it’s all been arranged.” He stood on the dais and tightened his grip on the chain. “Come, Stiles. We have work to do.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in panic, and he looked desperately at Derek. At the same moment, Kate kneed him in the back.

“Get up,” she ordered. “We’re leaving.”

“This is insane!” Derek objected. “Kate, haven’t you been listening? I am not Alpha Hale’s son. My title means nothing. Isn’t that the reason you wanted me in the first place—my family and my rank?”

“And your money and your clan,” Kate said coolly. “I’ll still have all of that, once we’re married.”

“But it’s all based on a lie!”

“So what?” Kate shrugged. “Your family has kept it secret all these years. Why would they stop now? All I have to do is threaten to expose the truth, and they’ll give me whatever I want. Besides…” She leaned over Derek’s back, showing her pointy teeth in a smile. “Peter will be High Alpha soon, and he’s promised us a place by his side.”

“My God,” Derek said slowly. “You’re as crazy as he is. Do you honestly think he can beat Grayson in a duel?”

“Oh, I’m not going to _fight_ my brother,” Peter interjected. “I’m going to use my spies to get close to him, my Rogues to kill his guards, and then I’m going to murder him.”

“How?” Derek scoffed.

Peter placed his hand on Stiles’ head. “With magic, of course.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped, and for the first time, he turned his eyes away from Derek’s. 

“This is why you wanted Stiles in your pack.” Derek spoke slowly as the truth sank in. “You want him to assassinate your brother. It’s been your plan all along.”

“You’re distressingly slow, Derek, but you do catch on.”

“But…” Derek shook his head, feeling stunned. “For a witch to attack a wolf, and a High Alpha at that…” He stared at Peter in horror. “You’re going to break the Truce.”

“I am indeed,” said Peter, relishing his words.

“But innocent people will die,” Derek objected. “Wolves, witches, even humans. We’ll all be dragged into war.”

“You should know our family history better than that, Derek,” Peter chided. “Wars are where fortunes are made.”

“My God,” Derek said again. “You truly are insane.”

Peter spread his arms wide. “You know what they say—there’s a fine line between genius and madness. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s high time Stiles and I got reacquainted.” 

Peter tugged the chain, pulling Stiles off his knees, while Kate used her claws to hoist Derek to his feet. Hot blood ran down his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. 

“Back up, Derek, nice and slow.” Keeping the needle buried in Derek’s neck, Kate backed toward the tunnel leading out of the cave, pulling him with her. Stiles struggled as Peter hauled him onto the dais. Peter chuckled indulgently.

“I always did enjoy your fighting spirit, little one,” he crooned. “Just like I’m going to enjoy beating it out of you.” 

“Kate,” Derek said frantically, “None of this will work. If Peter becomes Alpha, the first thing he’ll do is kill me. He’ll kill Laura, he’ll kill anyone with a competing claim, and then you’ll be out in the cold. Hell, he’ll kill you, too.”

“That won’t happen,” Kate said. “I’ve already promised Peter our allegiance in exchange for your life.” 

Despite his fear, Derek felt a burst of rage. “You don’t speak for me.”

“Someone had to,” Kate snapped. “You’re clearly sick. Keep walking.”

“You’re a fool to trust Peter,” Derek said, trying a different tack. “Whatever deal he made with you, he’ll break it. He has no honor.”

Peter turned and hissed at Derek, his eyes narrowing. “Watch what you say about me, pup,” he growled.

“Why do you think he was exiled in the first place?” Derek goaded. “He slept with his brother’s wife, his own Alpha’s mate. Now he’s admitted he’s planning to murder him.”

Peter snarled, showing his fangs, and his eyes flashed red. But he loosened his grip on Stiles, who slumped to his knees, gasping for breath. 

“First of all,” Peter said in a clipped, precise tone, “Grayson was never my Alpha. Secondly, I was exiled because my father hated me. Because I was strong where Grayson was weak. Nathaniel knew that. He knew he could never control me—”

“He knew you were sick and dangerous,” Derek spat. 

Peter ignored him. “And thirdly—Kara? That frigid bitch?” He made a face. “I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-inch claw.” 

Derek frowned. “But how…”

“Oh, Derek.” Peter shook his head, his expression sad. “I really wish you had inherited my intelligence instead of my good looks. Yes, I’m your father, but Kara is not your mother, no matter what Grayson told you.”

“Then who—” Derek broke off.

Just as earlier, with the revelation that Peter was alive, everything suddenly fell into place, a dozen disparate pieces of his life forming a pattern.

He remembered staring into the mirror the night he learned Peter was his real father…

_How many times had he looked at this selfsame image, Derek wondered, never questioning his place in the household, never suspecting his true parentage?_

_But why should he have suspected? He’d always favored the Hales rather than his mother’s family. With his dark hair and thick brows, he was the very image of Grayson, as well as his grandfather Nathaniel._

_Of course, he mused, he’d never shown a shred of Grayson’s discipline, or his mother’s icy control. Laura was the perfect combination of both, while Derek was a…_

_“Mongrel,” he whispered at his reflection._

No, Derek thought now. He’d never looked anything like Kara, with her red hair and delicate features, or shown an ounce of her cool composure. He had blamed himself for that failure—when all along, the truth had been staring him in the face.

He remembered his conversation with Stiles, weeks earlier, up in his cozy attic hideaway. There they had sat amongst the towering stacks of books, rain murmuring on the roof and running down the windows as Derek told Stiles the story of the Hales. 

_“Peter was the eldest son,” Derek explained. “Grayson is actually the younger brother. When Peter was born, it was assumed he’d take his rightful place, but it turned out he was a late blooder. That’s like a late bloomer in humans,” he added. “Most wolves can shift from when they’re born, but sometimes they don’t gain the ability until adolescence. The problem is, the later the shift happens, the harder it is to master it.”_

_He shook his head. “So there was Peter, finally a werewolf but completely out of control. He attacked some of the servants in his parent’s house.” Derek winced. “Nothing the family couldn’t hush up, of course,” he added bitterly._

Later, Derek recalled, in another conversation with Stiles, he had continued the story—completely unaware that the tale he was telling was actually his own.

_“Remember when I told you Peter hurt some of the servants in his parents’ household?”_

_Stiles nodded._

_Derek hesitated. “Afterwards, Margery had pups. Twins. But they died at birth. She said everyone told her it was for the best.”_

_Stiles sat for a long moment. Then poked Derek with his pencil and frowned at him._

_“I was twelve years old and an idiot,” Derek answered. “I asked Margery about the scar on the back of her neck, and she told me I was old enough to know the whole truth.”_

But it hadn’t been the whole truth, Derek realized. Nothing his family had told him had ever been the truth.

Grayson wasn’t his father.

Peter was.

Kara wasn’t his mother. 

Margery was. 

And Margery hadn’t given birth to twins. Instead, she had borne Derek—but not by choice. She was an innocent Omega who had been raped by the unstable son of her Alpha, then forced to bear his child—and then somehow forced to give that child to Grayson and Kara to raise as their own.

No one outside the family would have questioned it, Derek realized. The Hales would have spun some plausible story—had Kara go into seclusion due to a “difficult pregnancy,” then emerge, beaming with pride, holding her newborn son. The fact that the supposed son looked nothing like her wouldn’t have been an issue, since he resembled his Hale ancestors so closely. 

The press would have eaten it up with a spoon, Derek thought. He remembered seeing newspaper clippings in the family scrapbook—the artfully arranged “candid” photos of Grayson, Kara, Laura, and baby Derek—and could easily imagine the scene.

“I’m pleased Derek looks so much like his father,” Kara would have said, blushing shyly as she glanced at Grayson. And he would have laid a hand on her shoulder, beaming with pride, while Laura stood on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of her new baby brother. 

Then the reporters would have cooed with adoration while the cameras flashed.

One big happy family.

Derek felt sick to his stomach. He sank to his knees, overcome with shame and sorrow. How Margery must have hated him. Every moment of his existence was a reminder of what Peter had done. 

But somehow, Derek remembered…somehow all those years Margery had cared for him, had been the loving presence he secretly wished Kara could be, the gentle touch that counteracted the cold formality of the Hale household. 

Yet the whole time, she had been unable to claim Derek as her own, instead watching another woman receive the love and gratitude that should have been hers by right.

Tears rose up, burning Derek’s eyes. His stomach burned as well, and he thought he was going to be sick. His body shook and his shoulders heaved until, unable to bear the pain silently any longer, he flung back his head and howled out his grief and shame.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Dear Readers! I'm posting two chapters today--one now and one in a few hours. So for once you won't have a cliff-hanger! I really hope you enjoy them.
> 
>  **PLEASE NOTE** : Trigger warnings apply to these two chapters! Please check the tags, and if you're concerned about being triggered, have a friend read it first. 
> 
> Okay, on with the show!

When last we left our heroes…

_Derek felt sick to his stomach. He sank to his knees, overcome with shame and sorrow. How Margery must have hated him. Every moment of his existence was a reminder of what Peter had done._

_But somehow, Derek remembered…somehow all those years Margery had cared for him, had been the loving presence he secretly wished Kara could be, the gentle touch that counteracted the cold formality of the Hale household._

_Yet the whole time, she had been unable to claim Derek as her own, instead watching another woman receive the love and gratitude that should have been hers by right._

_Tears rose up, burning Derek’s eyes. His stomach burned as well, and he thought he was going to be sick. His body shook and his shoulders heaved until, unable to bear the pain silently any longer, he flung back his head and howled out his grief and shame._

And now…Chapter 60

***  
***

“Well,” Peter said as the echoes died away in the darkness. “That was dramatic.”

Derek ignored the jibe. He knelt on the floor of the darkened cave, swaying with exhaustion. His throat hurt from howling and his heart ached in his chest.

Kate still held the syringe in his neck, but the threat seemed like nothing now. What did it matter if Derek died? Didn’t he deserve it after being the cause of so much pain? 

Derek’s mind drifted to his early weeks in Beacon Hills, when he was still getting to know his Pack...

_They were training at the Moondocks, a beautiful autumn afternoon with the wind singing in the trees and the sky arching overhead. Lydia sat reading as the others sparred. Stiles stretched out on the ground with his head in her lap, her fingers combing absently through his hair as he dozed in a rare moment of contentment and silence._

_Watching them, Derek felt an uncomfortable sensation he refused to recognize as envy. He was distracted when Isaac flipped Boyd over his shoulder, the heavier Beta landing on his back with a thud. It was hard to say which of the two looked more surprised. Fortunately, Boyd took the loss in good humour._

_“Goddamn, boy,” he said as Isaac gave him a hand up. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” He clapped him on the back, and Isaac blushed._

_He blushed even harder as Derek complimented him, then made the duo repeat their movements slowly while the others watched._

_“This is what I mean when I talk about using a larger opponent’s weight against him,” he explained. “Sometimes being smaller has its advantages.”_

_“Unless you’re fighting a giant mutant freak like Peter,” Jackson remarked sourly, twisting the lid off a water bottle._

_Derek frowned. “Mutant?”_

_“Yeah,” Scott said as he handed a bottle to Allison. “When Peter full-shifted, he was all huge and…” He hunched his shoulders and waved his arms in the air. “Weird-looking.”_

_“Misshapen,” Allison put in. “Like a wolf walking on two legs.”_

_“Not running on all fours?” Derek asked, surprised._

_“Nope,” Erika said, biting into an apple with her strong white teeth. “He was butt-ugly.”_

_Lydia had bent over Stiles’ notebook, her lips pressed together as she rapidly sketched an image. Now she tore off the page and handed it to Derek. “Here.”_

_“Holy crap,” Derek said as he looked at the monstrous creature in the drawing. “Peter looked like this?” He glanced at Stiles, who nodded, his eyes dark and solemn. (He’d woken with a start when Boyd hit the ground.)_

_Boyd pulled another bottle from the cooler and tossed it to Derek. “You never saw Peter fully shifted?”_

_“No.” Derek frowned again. “He was exiled when I was just a baby, so I don’t have any clear memories of him. Everyone said he was a late blooder, but I never heard that his shift was different from anybody else’s.”_

_Stiles poked Derek with his pencil, then scribbled in his notebook and held it up for him to read._

_“‘Maybe he got that way over the years,’” Derek read aloud, “‘as he went crazier and crazier.’ Okay, maybe, but how? And why?”_

_Jackson scowled, then spat a stream of water. “Because sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are.”_

Remembering, Derek smiled, darkly amused. No wonder he’d always been such a failure, he thought, so fundamentally flawed. His very existence was tainted by what Peter had done to his mother. 

He remembered Malcom’s words.

_“He should have been put down the moment he was welped. Better yet he never should have been born…You tried to rehabilitate him, but it clearly hasn’t worked.”_

Malcom was right, Derek thought wearily. The world would be a better place without Derek Hale in it. With a feeling of mingled resignation and relief, he lowered his head and prayed for death.

_Derek._

Derek blinked in puzzlement. The voice hadn’t come from the cave, but from inside his head.

_Derek, look at me._

No, he thought, not exactly a voice…more like a presence, a knowing…

_Derek, love, look at me._

Derek raised his head and looked at Stiles. Tears were streaming down his face, but again, his eyes held only compassion and love.

Derek laughed, his voice a weak and wrecked thing. He could sense Peter and Kate’s alarm when they heard it. He must sound completely mad, he realized.

It only made him laugh louder.

“Oh, my God,” he wheezed, laughing so hard he could barely speak. “You knew this too?”

Stiles winked.

Derek laughed until it physically hurt, until his tears were those of merriment—albeit deranged merriment—rather than agony.

He finally stopped, breathless, and gazed at his mate with adoration. “My God, Stiles,” he said, “you really are a witch.”

“It hardly takes magic to see the truth, Derek.” Peter’s tone was waspish and annoyed. “You’re the spitting image of your mother. And you definitely take after me.”

Derek’s laughter died. “The hell I do.”

Peter shrugged and tossed a log on the brazier. The fire crackled and spat, and the flames rose higher, casting elongated shadows on the high curving walls.

Peter smiled, clearly enjoying the effect. “Your wolf is strong, Derek. It always has been. It’s why you’ve always struggled with _control_.” His tone expressed his contempt for the term. “And instead of celebrating your natural potential, honing it, Grayson and his ilk shamed you for it. Instead of a wolf, they made you their dog.”

The chain rattled as Peter stepped down from the dais and paced closer to Derek, his monstrous shadow following overhead.

“All those stupid classes, those insipid lessons in etiquette and proper behaviour—they instill shame and suppression rather than power and pride. As if we should hide the fact that we are apex predators, the very top of nature’s pyramid. Bah!”

Peter spat in derision, then crouched in front of Derek, just out of reach. 

“You and I, Derek, we’re what werewolves are meant to be. We’re driven by the deepest, wildest, most primal instinct of all, the one that simply says: _Take!_ ”

Peter’s hand clenched into a fist. Then, in another of his mercurial mood changes, he stood.

“I would have taught you everything. I would have made you my successor, but alas, Grayson and Kara stole you from me.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Stole?” 

“Bartered, technically. They gave me this territory in exchange for you. I hated to do it, but needs must.” Peter shrugged carelessly.

“I’m touched,” Derek sneered.

“It was all Malcolm’s idea, whispering in Grayson’s ear.” Peter’s expression grew smug. “Malcolm always did fancy Margery. He must have figured if he couldn’t have her, neither should I.” Peter heaved a dramatic sigh. “We would have been happy together, the three of us.”

“Are you serious?” Derek’s self-pity vanished, and his fury came back in full force. “You raped her.”

Peter sniffed. “I took my privilege.” 

“You weren’t her Alpha!” Derek raged. “You had no right! You hurt her so badly she still bears the scars.”

Peter’s handsome features twisted into something ugly. “It’s her fault she resisted. If she had obeyed like a proper Omega, she wouldn’t have been injured.”

Derek shifted, growling until foam dripped from his fangs. When he spoke, he barely recognized his own voice. “You fucking bastard, I’m going to rip you limb from limb. What’s wrong?” he goaded when Peter turned away. “Afraid to fight me?”

Peter’s shoulders stiffened, and his claws twitched.

“Come on,” Derek said. “Tell Kate to let me go and we’ll settle this wolf-to-wolf. Or are you going to let your Rogues do all your fighting for you? So much for the mighty Alpha,” he sneered. “You’re not only a lack-faith, you’re a coward.”

Peter turned back, glowering at him. “I have an _agenda_ ,” he said peevishly. “I’m on a _timeline_ ,” He straightened his shoulders. “At long last, my destiny awaits. From the ashes, I ascend and—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Stiles said loudly, rising to his feet. “Stop monologuing!”

***

Peter’s reaction was almost comical. His eyes widened, and his expression went from shock to astonishment to delight.

“Stiles?” he asked, tilting his head. “Is that you, my little witchling?”

“That’s right, you miserable fuck.”

Peter turned and looked at Stiles. 

He stood on the dais, just a skinny, gawky kid with shadows under his eyes and a bad case of bed-head, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with his typical oversized flannel. He was bare-footed and shivering and looked about as threatening as a deer in headlights.

Still, he stood his ground, and as Peter slowly stalked back to the dais, he raised his chin in stubborn defiance.

 _Typical block-headed Serafin_ , Derek thought, remembering Stan’s description. Despite the danger, his heart swelled with pride at his mate’s courage.

“Come here,” Peter ordered. 

Stiles didn’t move.

“I said, come here.” 

“Go to hell.”

Peter gave a sharp jerk on the chain, bringing Stiles to his knees on the dais. 

“I thought I heard a voice earlier,” Peter murmured. “A cry for help in the forest. Was that you?“

Stiles bit his lip and, for a second, his eyes flickered to Derek.

“But even then,” Peter continued, “I wasn’t sure. My hearing isn’t what it used to be, after the fire.” He twisted his neck irritably. “Sometimes I swear I can still hear the hiss of flames as they burned my flesh.”

“I told you he could talk,” Kate said sullenly.

Peter didn’t look at her. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he said, “or I’ll snap your neck.”

Kate hissed, and Derek could feel her body shaking with fury. Peter turned his head to look at her, his pale eyes glittering in the firelight. “You live as long as you’re of use to me, and not a minute more. Remember that.”

Kate bowed her head, but Derek could still sense her rage. “Yes, Alpha,” she murmured.

It seemed enough to mollify Peter, because he turned back to Stiles. “I always suspected you could speak,” he told him. “We discussed it many a time. Do you remember?” 

Stiles glared at Peter, but said nothing. 

Peter extended one claw and used it to raise Stiles’ chin, forcing the boy to look him in the eye. “You were being willful, just like you are now. Weren’t you?” 

Again, Stiles didn’t speak, and Peter’s face darkened with rage. “Answer me.” 

“Stiles, just tell him,” Derek ordered. As much as he admired Stiles’ stubborn pride, he knew it could easily get him killed. 

Stiles set his jaw. 

“Dammit,” Derek muttered, shifting back to human form. “Stiles couldn’t talk, even if he wanted to,” he told Peter. “He was under a spell.”

“A spell?” Peter blinked. “Cast by whom?”

“The witches who murdered Stiles’ parents. They cursed Stiles before he killed them,” he added. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Peter what Stiles was capable of. “The curse took his voice away.”

“And he got it back how?”

“Derek, don’t tell—” Stiles broke off as Peter raised his chin further, his claw piercing the skin. Blood ran down Stiles’ pale neck and dripped on the collar.

“Uh, uh, pup,” Peter chided. “The grown-ups are talking now.” Stiles stilled, and Peter retracted his claw. “Continue, Derek.”

Derek took a deep breath, aware that he was stalling.

 _Come on, Laura_ , he prayed. _I need you._

“The witch who sent the assassins after Stiles came to Beacon Hills,” he told Peter. “He lifted the curse before I killed him.” Derek bit his lip. He knew what he was about to say would shatter Stiles’ trust. But if it saved his life, it would be worth it.

He took another deep breath and spoke to Peter. “There’s just one problem. The witch was here in Beacon Hills for months. He cast a spell to drain Stiles’ magic and because of it...he’s dying.”

Stiles stared at Derek in confusion. “No,” he said. “You killed Król. The spell is done. I’m better now.”

Derek shook his head. “Król took too much of your power,” he explained. “It needs to be replenished, or you’ll die.”

Stiles scowled. “Says who?”

“Your uncle.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in outrage. “That asshole? He didn’t say anything to me.”

“That’s because…” Derek took another deep breath. “In order for you to be cured, and learn to use your magic properly, you need to go back to Poland with him. Your family can heal you,” he added when Stiles’ face fell. “And they can teach you how to ground your magic so you don’t burn out.”

Stiles slumped back on his heels, and when he spoke, his voice was tiny. “You’d send me away?”

Derek raised his chin. “To save your life—yes, I would.”

“For how long?

“As long as it takes.”

Tears sprang into Stiles’ eyes, but he clung to his anger. “Do I get a say in all this?” he asked, his tone sarcastic.

“No,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles looked away, rubbing at his eyes. “When were you gonna tell me, Derek?”

“To be honest,” Derek said, “I was going to wait until you arrived in Poland, and then tell you that you weren’t coming back.”

Stiles stared at him, mouth open in shock. Then he scowled again, his features closing up like a fist. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” he snarled. “You complain about your family, but you keep just as many secrets as they do.”

Derek flinched as the words hit home, but managed to keep his tone calm. “That may be true, but I’m still your Alpha and you will obey me.”

“I hate to interrupt this little spat,” Peter said, clearly delighted to do so, “but am I to understand that Stiles can no longer do magic?”

“He can,” Derek said, keeping his eyes on Stiles, “but it would most likely kill him. Especially if he attempted something big.”

Stiles’ eyes flickered to Derek’s again as he grasped his meaning. For a moment, they had a silent battle of wills.

_If I can kill him…_ Stiles nodded toward Peter, _and save you, then it’s worth my life._

Derek frowned in return, willing Stiles to understand him. _No, it’s not._ He subtly jerked his chin at their surroundings. _I will get us out of this._

Stiles raised his eyebrows. _How?_

Derek glared back at him. _TRUST ME._

"This is all fascinating,” Peter said. “I have to admit I was surprised when Stiles here didn’t blast me with lightning the moment he saw me. Like you did in the warehouse, that fateful night when we fought the Argents. Remember that, Stiles?” He tightened his grip on the chain, drawing Stiles nearer. “Remember when you set me on fire?’

"He didn’t mean to,” Derek said quickly. “It’s just instinct. Like when the assassins murdered his parents. Deaton said Stiles unleased so much power he burned the house down. Same with the warehouse." 

"Ah, Dr. Deaton, our learned Emissary.” Peter stroked his goatee pensively. “You know, I always got the feeling he didn’t much like me.” His manner became brisk. “Well, this has all been very enlightening, but I see no reason to change my plans."

Derek gaped at him. “Are you serious? I just told you, if Stiles tries to do magic, it might kill him. And casting a spell powerful enough to take down an Alpha …” He looked helplessly at Stiles.

Stiles’ expression became grim. “It would take some major mojo."

"True,” Peter said. He hopped up on the dais, legs dangling over the edge, then slung an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulled him close. “Then again, it only has to work once, right?” 

Stiles’ shoulders slumped under Peter’s touch, and his face grew pale.

"You bastard,” Derek whispered. 

Stiles shook his head. “I won’t do it."

"Oh, but you will,” Peter gloated. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kill Derek." 

Stiles looked at Derek, horrified, and his face grew even more pallid. 

"You see, Stiles,” Peter said cheerfully. “Even an old cynic like me can recognize true love when I see it. And the easiest way to manipulate _you_ …” 

He poked Stiles in the chest, making him flinch. “Well, it’s always been about the people you love, hasn’t it? You first joined my pack out of your love for Scott. Then I bought your silence about our…” 

He paused as if searching for the right word. “Our little _activities_ , through your love for Scott’s mother, because I said I’ll kill her if you told anyone. And _now_ you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do out of love for Derek. Granted, If Kate takes Derek away, he won’t be very _happy_ , but at least he’ll be alive. And as long as you obey me, he’ll stay that way."

Derek shook with rage. “I swear to God, Peter, I will—" 

Stiles interrupted him. 

"No, Derek, let me handle this.” He spoke softly but firmly. “Do you promise me you won’t kill Derek?” he asked Peter.

Peter’s eyes widened with mock sincerity and he placed his hand on his chest. “On my honour as an Alpha. Although…” He drew out the word. “The situation is complicated by the fact that Derek truly loves you back."

"He doesn’t—’’ Kate began

"Oh, hush, Kate,” Peter said mildly. “Honestly, you’re like a teenager. Stiles here has more maturity.” 

He turned back to Stiles. “Here’s my dilemma. I’m not so naïve as to think Derek’s therapy is actually going to _work_. No, as long as Derek is alive, he will always love _you_.” He pointed to Stiles. “Which means that as long as he’s alive, he’ll try to kill _me_.” He pointed to himself.

"Damn straight,” Derek muttered.

Peter beamed fondly at him. “Spoken like a true Hale. However, my plans don’t allow for that kind of drama. So,” he concluded briskly, “I have a solution."

"What is it?” Stiles asked. Derek could smell the anxiety pouring off him in waves, mingled with the salt of his tears.

Peter showed his teeth in a predatory grin, wrapped his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, and whispered in his ear, loud enough for Derek to hear. “I’m going to take you. Right here, right now."

With a sweep of his arm, Peter flung Stiles off the dais. He sprawled face-down on the floor, knocking over the brazier. He cried out in pain as his skin contacted the hot metal, then rolled out of the way as the burning logs scattered, sparks spiraling toward the ceiling. 

"Stiles!” Derek surged forward, cursing as Kate dragged him back. He felt a painful prick in his neck, and dizziness flooded him. His vision swam and his limbs trembled as he fell on his hands and knees.

"My God, Kate.” Derek’s tongue felt heavy as the poison took effect, and his breathing shortened. “What have you done?"


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fastest update ever!
> 
>  **Important Reminder** : Trigger warnings apply!

When last we left our heroes…

_With a sweep of his arm, Peter flung Stiles off the dais. He sprawled face-down on the floor, knocking over the brazier. He cried out in pain as his skin contacted the hot metal, then rolled out of the way as the burning logs scattered, sparks spiraling toward the ceiling._

_"Stiles!” Derek surged forward, cursing as Kate dragged him back. He felt a painful prick in his neck, and dizziness flooded him. His vision swam and his limbs trembled as he fell on his hands and knees._

_"My God, Kate.” Derek’s tongue felt heavy as the poison took effect, and his breathing shortened. “What have you done?"_

And now…Chapter 61!

***  
***

As the logs dispersed, the fire began to die. Darkness grew in the cave, and a cold dampness filled the air. Derek felt the chill in his bones, and his teeth began to chatter.

“That was just a few drops of wolfsbane, Derek,” Kate said in his ear. “Hold still, or I’ll give you the rest.”

“No!” Stiles rose groggily to his hands and knees. “You can’t,” he told Kate. “He’s allergic. You’ll kill him!”

“I have an antidote in my car,” Kate shrugged. 

“You won’t make it in time!”

“We will if we leave now,” Kate said. “On your feet, Derek.”

“Not just yet.” Peter stood, looming on the dais. “The fun’s just getting started.” 

He took off his jacket and tossed it aside, then strode down from the dais. Stiles tried to crawl away, but Peter hauled him back with the chain. 

“Not so fast,” he chided. He stepped on Stiles’ back, forcing him to the floor, and held him there with a boot on his neck. 

“We had a deal, and we’re done,” Kate told Peter. “I brought the boy. New I get Derek.”

Peter smiled. “But I really need him to see this.” With claws extended, he ripped the flannel shirt from Stiles’ back. Stiles screamed as Peter’s claws shredded his T-shirt and flayed his skin.

Derek screamed, too. “Stop it!” he yelled at Peter.

“Come on!” Kate urged. She hauled Derek to his feet and pulled him backward toward the tunnel leading out of the cave. 

Peter snarled and flared his eyes at her. “I said, not yet.” He knelt and straddled Stiles, ripped the remains of the flannel shirt into strips, and used them to bind his hands behind his back.

“Let me explain my solution to you, Stiles,” he said in a conversational tone. “You see, once I’ve had you, then Derek’s wolf won’t want you anymore. You know it’s true, Derek,” he added. “Alphas always prefer fresh meat.”

“No!” Derek tried to shift, but his body wouldn’t obey him. A humming sound filled his head like a swarm of bees. 

“Fuck you!” Stiles kicked and fought against Peter. “Get off me!” 

Peter rolled Stiles onto his back and backhanded him across the face, as casually as swatting a fly. 

“Stop!” Derek felt sick. He tried to pull away from Kate, but his fingers were numb, his limbs heavy and weak.

Peter grabbed Stiles’ chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said. “I’ll make it quick.” 

“Go fuck yourself!” Stiles hissed. 

Peter pouted. “But I thought you wanted to be the Alpha’s mate.” His eyes met Derek’s. “I think I am going to make Derek watch,” he said thoughtfully, “just to get my point across.”

“From what I hear,” Derek said, desperate to draw Peter’s wrath away from Stiles and back to himself, “you can’t even get it up.”

Peter glared at him, grabbed Stiles by the elbow, and hauled him to his feet. “A temporary problem, I admit, but one that seems to have remedied itself in the past few weeks.” 

Stiles gave a strangled bark of laughter, tinged with hysteria. “You stupid fuck, Peter. You’re so fucking arrogant.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Stiles laughed harder. “All you had to do was make your own goddamn cup of tea, you miserable piece of shit. What?” He mocked as Peter’s expression changed. “Why do you think I volunteered to do all the cooking for the pack?”

Peter tightened his grip on Stiles’ arm and twisted it upward, looking pleased when Stiles cried out. “You poisoned me?’

“A few drops of wolfsbane,” Stiles gloated, panting from the pain, “a few times a week. That’s all it took to keep your dick at half-mast.”

“You little bastard.” Shaking with rage, Peter seized Stiles by the throat and lifted him up on his toes. “How dare you?”

Stiles thrust his face toward Peter’s. “Maybe I couldn’t stop you from Turning my friends,” he croaked, “but I could damn sure stop you from hurting them any worse.” He took as deep a breath as he could through Peter’s grip. “So FUCK. YOU!”

For a moment, there was dead silence, broken only by the murmur of rain falling outside and Stiles’ labored breathing.

Peter became very still.

Derek felt his blood run cold.

Then Peter drew Stiles closer, until they were face-to-face.

“Just for that,” he said through his teeth, “I’m going to take my time with you.” 

He hauled Stiles up on the dais, shoved him down on the boards, and held him there.

“I’m not watching this,” Kate said, her voice jittery.

Peter didn’t even look at her. “Fine. Go.” 

“No, Kate. Please,” Derek begged, as she dragged him away. “Stiles!”

Peter stripped off the remnants of Stiles’ T-shirt and twisted them in his hands. “I can’t decide if I want to gag you,” he told him, “or listen to you scream. Hmm…” He pondered for a moment. “Why not both?” He slipped the gag over Stiles’ head.

“No!” Stiles struggled, turning his mouth away. 

“Hold still,” Peter ordered, forcing the gag in his mouth.

Stiles bit him. Peter swore and jerked his hand back. 

“KATE!” Stiles bellowed.

At the entrance to the tunnel, Kate froze. 

“Just so you know,” Stiles said, his voice hoarse and shaking, “he’ll never love you.”

Derek felt Kate’s body tense. “Liar,” she hissed.

Stiles grinned at her, his expression one of fiendish glee. “Whatever you do, it won’t matter. He’ll always love me, never you.” 

Peter seized his hair and used it to pull his head back. “You’re really killing the mood here, Stiles. Kate,” he ordered. “Leave.”

“Yes, Alpha.” She tightened her grip on Derek and pulled him toward the tunnel.

“He gave me his pledge, not you!” Stiles yelled after her.

Kate stopped again, trembling. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Stiles sneered. “Derek knew you his whole life and never asked you to Mate. He’s known me three months and what did he do? Put a freaking collar on it!”

Kate shook with fury. “I want it,” she told Peter.

“Honestly.” Peter rolled his eyes. “This is all so adolescent—"

“I WANT IT!” Kate shrieked.

“No!” Stiles screamed back. “It’s MINE! He gave it to ME! So suck on that, bitch!”

Kate shoved Derek on his knees, still holding the syringe in his neck. “Give it to me,” she told Peter, “or the deal’s off, and I let Derek kill you. Right here, right now.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Peter snapped. “Fine.” He reached down, unclasped the collar, and slipped it off the chain.

“No!” Stiles fought frantically. “No, it’s mine!”

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. Tears streamed down his face, and he felt as if his heart were being ripped out of his chest. He tried to raise his voice, but it came out faint and weak. “Stiles, don’t! It’s not worth your life!”

Stiles twisted his head to look at Derek, and his eyes filled with tears. “Yes, it is."

Peter held up the collar, and Kate raised her hand. “Give it to me,” she ordered.

With a smirk, Peter flung the collar at her. 

For a moment, it circled slowly in the air, glittering in the dying firelight, then fell heavily to the earth. 

It landed with a thunk among the smoldering logs, halfway between the dais and the exit from the cave—and a few feet from Kate’s reach.

“You son of a bitch,” Kate snarled. “Put it closer!”

“If you want it so bad,” Peter replied, “you can crawl for it.”

Kate swore under her breath. Derek could sense the hesitation in her stance. If she let go of Derek to reach for the collar, he would kill her, even in his weakened state. But if she gave him the rest of the wolfsbane, he’d die, antidote or no.

For a moment, there was utter stillness.

“Kate,” Derek pleaded, “don’t do it.”

“Fuck it,” whispered Kate. She pressed her thumb down on the syringe.

“No!” Stiles screamed. “Derek!”

Derek felt a searing cold in his muscles as the rest of the poison entered his body. His eyesight dimming, he watched helplessly as the empty needle clattered to the floor of the cave.

***

Derek lurched sideways and fell heavily as Kate lunged for the collar. She scooped it up and clasped it around her neck, where, in the dying light, it gleamed dully against her skin.

She turned back to Derek with a triumphant smile. 

“ _Now_ we’re leaving,” she announced.

She took a step toward him.

Then she stopped.

A look of puzzlement crossed her face.

She raised her hand and brushed her fingertips against the collar, then gasped suddenly.

Her head jerked backward as the collar began to glow.

“What the hell?” Peter murmured, standing.

“Dear God,” Derek whispered.

A black stain tinged with red wriggled across Kate’s skin, beginning at the neck and rapidly moving outward. Even as Derek smelled burning flesh, she scrabbled frantically at the now white-hot metal, trying to unclasp it—to no avail.

For a second, she stared at Derek, her mouth open in a wordless scream.

He stared back, horror-stricken.

Then, even as Kate’s hair began to crackle and burn, lifting toward the ceiling, she slowly turned and looked back at the dais.

Her eyes met Stiles’.

He silently mouthed two words. “I’m sorry.” 

Kate looked at Peter, then back at Stiles.

For a heartbeat, they stared at one another in moment of complete understanding.

Then, in a split second, they both moved simultaneously. Stiles rolled on his back, bracing his body against the dais. With all his might, he kicked out at Peter’s legs, striking in the vulnerable spot just behind his knees.

At the same time, Kate strode forward, raising her arms wide.

Impelled by Stiles’ kick, Peter topped off the dais into her embrace. Kate wrapped her arms around him, sinking her claws in deep. 

Then her body burst into flames.

Even as she screamed in agony, Kate clung to Peter. And even as he fought to free himself, his own body began to burn.

“Oh, my God,” Derek whispered.

It was happening, he realized, just like in the fairy tale—the one Margery had told him, and that he in turn had told his Pack. 

He remembered…

_“There’s an old wolves’ tale,” Derek explained. “You shouldn’t wear a collar unless your mate places it around your neck. If you put one on that doesn’t belong to you, it kills you.”_

_Lydia tilted her head. “Seriously?”_

_Derek scratched his neck. “It’s just superstition,” he said defensively, “but most people still won’t try one on.” He told them the legend of Mara and Kaius, the story he’d heard a million times at Margery’s knee: How, on their wedding night, the couple was betrayed by Kaius’ twin brother, Lucien._

_“Lucien was enraged that his brother’s promised mate was more high-born than his own,” Derek said. “When Mara’s pack was seen from the heights and the clan began to rejoice, Lucien went to the honeymoon palace and entered. There, Lucien told Kaius that Mara had been killed by marauders. When Kaius collapsed in grief, Lucien slew him, buried his body beneath the chamber floor, and took the collar for his own.”_

_“But the instant Lucien placed the collar around his neck, he felt a terrible burning pain. No matter how loud he howled and how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the collar off. He dug at his neck with his claws, rending his flesh, but the collar clung to him as if it was part of his own hide. Finally, the burning grew so bright that Lucien burst into flames and died in horrible agony.”_

“Oh, my God,” Derek said again, then blinked in surprise as Stiles’ face appeared above him. Somehow, Derek realized, he’d collapsed on his back, his body spent and useless from the poison.

“You knew,” he said to Stiles, his voice slurring. “You knew what would happen.”

“I hoped,” Stiles corrected. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“But you listened,” Derek insisted as Stiles hoisted him to his feet. “You listened to my story.” 

“I’m always listening, big guy. Up we go,” Stiles added. With a surge of pure adrenaline, he hauled Derek over his back, clasped his wrists, and dragged him out of the cavern and into the narrow tunnel.

Derek realized belatedly that Stiles’ hands were free. “Hey,” he muttered. “How…?”

Stiles knew what he meant, like always. “My dad taught me,” he said. “I can get out of handcuffs, too. And pick locks.”

“Cool,” Derek murmured.

Somewhere, in the darkness behind them, someone was screaming. There was a bad, smoky, meaty smell, and red lights danced on the roof of the tunnel. It reminded Derek of the club in the city, the one that had broken his heart.

But that was all in the past, he reminded himself. The thought made Derek happy, and he whuffled contentedly against the back of Stiles neck. “So smart,” he slurred as, inside, his wolf preened with pride. “My mate, so smart. Smarter than anyone else. Braver, too.”

“Uh-huh.” Stiles’ voice sounded breathless. 

Derek frowned as his nose pressed against his mate’s skin. “You smell funny.” He took another whiff. “Wrong.”

“Thanks a lot, big guy.”

“No, no,” Derek shook his head drowsily. “Not _bad_. Just, like…not mine.” He frowned as a whiff of blood and pain reached his nose. “You’re hurt, too. Did somebody hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

The smell of grass and trees and water—the clean, fresh smell of the forest—reached Derek, and he sighed in relief. 

Then, far off, he heard a wolf howling. For some reason, the sound filled him with anxiety instead of peace.

“Hey,” Derek said faintly as Stiles settled him on his back on the damp earth. “Hey, I think I’m sick.” He opened his eyes, blinking in confusion as rain fell out of the blackened treetops and onto his face, tickling his skin.

A cool hand pressed against his brow, and Derek leaned eagerly into its comforting touch.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles said. “I’m going to make you better.”

He placed his hand over Derek’s heart, then closed his eyes. After a moment, his palm began to glow with a faint greenish phosphorescence, like a cluster of fireflies on a warm summer night.

Derek sighed in relief again as he felt the pain and sickness gradually being leeched from his body. His senses sharpened, and he drew in deep breaths, filling his lungs with the soothing night air. The earth grew solid beneath his back, and the sky no longer spun above. He flexed his fingers in the wet grass, reveling in the sensation, and felt strength and balance returning to his limbs.

As Derek’s body healed, his mind cleared as well. He recalled not only their present situation, and the horrifying events that had just occurred, but something else, something Stan had told him the night they rescued Stiles from Król.

_Derek turned to help Stan as he lurched to his knees, hissing in pain._

_“Son of a bitch,” Stan said, looking down at the knife wound in his palm. “Forgot about that.”_

_Derek started forward, intending to drain the pain from the injury. “I can help._

_“Nah, I’m on it.” To Derek’s surprise, Stan placed his other hand over his injured palm, until both began to glow._

_Derek stared in fascination. “Witches can heal?”_

_“Not like your kind,” Stan said with a grimace. “But enough to slow the bleeding and prevent infection until I can get some stitches.”_

Stiles was healing him, Derek realized.

But then he remembered another conversation with Stan, back at Hale House. It seemed ages ago, but, Derek recalled, had only happened earlier this evening.

_“I haven’t been completely honest with you, Alpha Hale.”_

_“About that, exactly?”_

_Stan fidgeted with his phone. “About Staś’ health. He’s not getting better.”_

_Derek stared at him in shock. “You said he needed rest and healing after what Król did to him, but that he would recover.”_

_“Yeah,” Stan drawled, scratching the back of his head. “That’s kinda the part where I lied.”_

_“Are you kidding me?” Even as he gaped at Stan, Derek felt a chill run through him. “What’s wrong with him?”_

_Stan shrugged. “Like I said before, if a witch wields that kind of power without replenishing it…”_

_“It could kill him.”_

_“Exactly. Especially if the witch is untrained.”_

Derek’s eyes flew open. Stiles knelt next to him, his hand still glowing against Derek’s chest, but his head drooped with fatigue and his breathing was faint and labored.

“Stop!” Derek sat up, shoving Stiles away. “What the hell are you doing?”

Stiles blinked at him, his eyes dark with confusion and exhaustion. He raised a trembling hand again and reached for Derek. 

“Stop it!” Derek slapped his hand away. 

Stiles frowned. “Why?”

“You shouldn’t do magic,” Derek said. “You’re not strong enough.”

Stiles’ frown deepened. “You were dying, Derek. I had to help.”

Derek grasped Stiles’ shoulders, horrified when he felt how weak and shaky his body was. “Don’t you understand? It could kill you!”

Now Stiles’ frown turned into a scowl. “I don’t care!”

“Well, I do—” Derek broke off in alarm as he sensed movement in the trees around them.

“What is it?” Stiles asked.

“Shhh!” Derek strained his ears as a faint rustling sound turned into the persistent patter of paws on packed earth. 

A shiver ran down his spine as a sour scent reached his nose. 

Eyes appeared in the darkness around them, eyes that glowed a fierce, murderous blue.

Peter’s Rogues had arrived.

“Oh, _crap_!” Derek said.

***


	62. Chapter 62

When last we left our heroes…

_Derek’s eyes flew open. Stiles knelt next to him, his hand still glowing against Derek’s chest, but his head drooped with fatigue and his breathing was faint and labored._

_“Stop!” Derek sat up, shoving Stiles away. “What the hell are you doing?”_

_Stiles blinked at him, his eyes dark with confusion and exhaustion. He raised a trembling hand again and reached for Derek._

_“Stop it!” Derek slapped his hand away._

_Stiles frowned. “Why?”_

_“You shouldn’t do magic,” Derek said. “You’re not strong enough.”_

_Stiles’ frown deepened. “You were dying, Derek. I had to help.”_

_Derek grasped Stiles’ shoulders, horrified when he felt how weak and shaky his body was. “Don’t you understand? It could kill you!”_

_Now Stiles’ frown turned into a scowl. “I don’t care!”_

_“Well, I do—” Derek broke off in alarm as he sensed movement in the trees around them._

_“What is it?” Stiles asked._

_“Shhh!” Derek strained his ears as a faint rustling sound turned into the persistent patter of paws on packed earth._

_A shiver ran down his spine as a sour scent reached his nose._

_Eyes appeared in the darkness around them, eyes that glowed a fierce, murderous blue._

_Peter’s Rogues had arrived._

_“Oh, crap!” Derek said._

***

The Rogues ringed the hollow, then hesitated, sniffing the air. Derek knew they could smell Peter’s gruesome demise in the greasy black smoke that still poured from the cave. 

Derek scrambled to a crouch, cursing his weak limbs. He squinted into the rainy darkness but his senses were still sluggish from the wolfsbane.

“How many?” he asked.

“A dozen, at least,” Stiles whispered back. “Maybe more beyond the trees.”

He stood suddenly, raising his hand toward the Rogues. “Get back!” 

The familiar firefly-light flared from his palm, bright enough to illuminate the clearing. For a second, individual drops of rain glowed greenish yellow while the eyes of the Rogues flared blue in the surrounding dark. The wolves cowered, whimpering.

But almost immediately, the light died. Stiles’ knees buckled.

“Stop that!” Derek struggled to his feet, slapping Stiles’ hand down again. “Get behind me.” 

To his surprise, Stiles obeyed. Derek could feel his mate’s hands trembling where he clutched at Derek’s shoulders, his breath quick against the back of his neck.

“Stand down!” Derek ordered the Rogues, hoping to reach their long-dormant instinct to submit to an Alpha—any Alpha.

But his voice was weak, and the Rogues’ confusion and distress at Peter’s death made them more aggressive, rather than less. They scuttled amongst the trees, panting greedily as they drew closer. 

“Back up,” Derek told Stiles. 

Together, they backed toward the cliff wall. The Rogues moved down the slope, slinking slyly through the rocks and boulders toward the floor of the hollow. They were like coward dogs, Derek realized—brazen instead of brave, craven rather than courageous. Unfortunately, that didn’t make them any less dangerous.

“The cave?” he asked.

Stiles risked a glance behind them, then shook his head grimly. “Still burning.”

“Dammit,” Derek muttered. “There’s gotta be a back exit, a tunnel. If you can make it through the smoke—”

The largest Rogue lunged, growling and snapping.

Derek’s strength surged automatically at the challenge. He shifted, roaring, and the Rogue paused, hissing in rage. 

Derek flexed his claws. He was gradually growing stronger as his body healed from the poison, but not nearly fast enough. If he had to fight them all…

“On my signal,” he murmured to Stiles, “I want you to run.”

“I’m not leaving you.” 

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

The big Rogue threw back its head and howled. The others joined in, shaking the trees. Seconds later, even more howls echoed in the distance.

“Shit.” Stiles’ hands shook harder.

The lead Rogue stalked forward. As he stepped into the clearing, he shifted into his Beta form and showed his teeth in challenge. They were dirty and jagged, as were his claws. He was tall and rangy, with tangled red hair and a scraggly beard. Like the Rogue who had attacked Derek at Hale House, he was ill-kempt and his eyes gleamed with killing madness.

Derek took a deep breath, willing himself into his full shift for the final fight.

It didn’t happen. 

To Derek’s horror, he remained in his Beta form. His body wasn’t yet up to achieving his full wolf.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice wavered.

Derek didn’t allow himself the luxury of turning his head and taking one last look at his mate. 

Instead, he took another breath. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“Derek,” Stiles breathed. “No.”

“I’ve always loved you.” Despite everything, Derek smiled. “I loved you the moment I saw you.”

As more Rogues joined the leader in the clearing, Derek stepped forward, flashing his claws. 

It wouldn’t be enough, he knew, not against so many enemies. 

He would die.

He would die, but maybe—just maybe—if Derek fought long enough and hard enough, Stiles would live.

Derek bared his fangs and growled, jutting his chin in defiance.

The Rogues growled back and circled round, waiting for their leader to draw first blood. After that, Derek knew, they would swarm him, dozens against one.

He would go down—but like a true Hale, he would go down fighting.

As the lead Rogue stepped into the clearing, Derek raised his head and howled—one last farewell, to his life, to Stiles, and to his beloved pack, if any of them survived this night.

Despite themselves, the Rogues cringed at the sound, their ears pressed back against their heads.

For a moment, Derek thought it would be enough—enough to cow them and give Derek a fighting chance.

But as the echoes died away, the Rogues moved forward, snarling and slavering.

The lead Rogue laughed, an ugly gurgling sound. 

He raised his claws and bent his knees, haunches quivering as he prepared to attack.

“This is for Peter,” he growled through its fangs. “The true High Alpha of the Hale Clan.”

Then his head exploded.

***

Derek blinked in shock, even as the shot rang through the clearing, even as he felt hot flecks of gore spatter against his skin.

As realization hit, he raised his eyes to the top of the slope where a lone figure stood. 

Derek’s dormant senses suddenly snapped into place, his vision zeroing in. It was Stan, he realized, in his jeans and fatigue jacket. He held a pistol in one hand, with his other arm in a sling.

Two other figures suddenly appeared on either side of him—Laura and Alphonse, their long dark hair flowing.

And then…

“Oh, God,” Derek whispered.

The Pack.

_His_ Pack.

His whole Pack, alive and well, appearing one-by-one along the top of the ridge as they ringed the circle of the clearing.

Then Laura howled the signal to attack, and the battle was joined.

***

It wasn’t easy. The Rogues fought with a ferocity born of despair. They knew the fate that awaited them if they survived—execution by the Clan as an example to others. And they still outnumbered Derek, at least until the Pack fought their way down the slope to his position.

Derek concentrated on protecting Stiles, sustaining several injuries as he backed them both against the cliff in order to fight defensively. As he did, he caught glimpses of his pack in action—glimpses that gave him renewed strength:

Boyd and Erika fighting in full wolf form, her white fur standing in stark contrast to his dark 

A Rogue sprouting Allison’s arrows from his back, then going down under Scott’s jaws.

Others cowering before Lydia’s Banshee shriek and Jackson’s burning blue eyes, turning to flee only to be slashed to ribbons by Isaac’s claws.

At one point, Derek swore he saw Melissa McCall beating a Rogue over the head with an aluminum baseball bat. 

As it fell, another one reared behind her. Derek tried to call out a warning, even as he ducked a vicious swipe from the Rogue in front of him.

Derek planted his bare foot in the wolf’s gut and shoved, sending it across the clearing. He turned back to Melissa, just in time to see the Rogue behind her stagger back as Stan shot him at point-blank range.

“Derek! Look out!” 

Derek turned at Stiles’ voice. A rock sailed past, narrowly missing his face but squarely hitting that of the Rogue he’d just kicked. The Rogue’s head jerked back in shock, and Derek took advantage of its hesitation to break the beast’s neck. 

Laura and Alphonse, fluidly fighting as one, were the first to gain the forest floor, and now joined Derek and Stiles by the rock face.

Laura shifted into Beta form, looking completely unruffled despite the fact that she was covered in blood and smelly tufts of fur, and acknowledged Derek with a nod. “Little brother.”

Derek grinned at her. “Good to get out of the office?”

Laura shrugged. “Occasionally.” She glanced toward the cave, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “Peter?”

“Dead.”

“Kate?”

“Same.”

“Damn.” Laura made a face. “You shoulda saved her for me.”

“Incoming!” Stiles yelled, hurling another rock into the fray.

Derek, Laura, and Alphonse leapt back into action, and within a few minutes, it was over. The dead lay in heaps on the ground.

Derek collapsed on his knees, gasping for breath and pressing a hand to his side where a Rogue’s claws had flayed the skin. He quickly looked around the clearing, counting pack members until he was sure they were all alive. They were, although all had injuries of some sort. 

Derek remembered belatedly that the Pack had fought two battles that night—Peter’s initial attack, followed by the sortie at the cave. He’d have to ask them about it, once he had the energy to move again. And when he wasn’t quite so dizzy from the after-effects of wolfsbane.

Meanwhile, he let the cool rain rinse the blood from his face, arms, and chest. The Pack licked their wounds—literally—while Melissa fussed over them, clucking about infection. 

“I’m fine.” Derek waved her off when she tried to hover. 

“Sure you are.” Melissa shone a flashlight in his face, making him blink. “Can you stand?”

“I can,” Derek replied with dignity. “I just prefer to kneel right now.” 

Melissa snorted in derision but turned away. Stan winked at her as he approached.

“You’re welcome, gorgeous,” he said.

“I didn’t need your help!” she replied, stalking over to where Scott was bandaging Allison’s arm with a strip of his shirt.

Stan shrugged, then brandished his weapon at Derek with a cocky grin. “Told you,” he said, “I don’t need wolfsbane when a head shot will do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Derek said. 

“You do that, Alpha Hale.” Stan’s expression shifted into a scowl. “What the hell?” he asked angrily.

Derek blinked up at him in confusion, then realized Stan was looking behind him. He twisted around as Stan approached Stiles, who was sitting a few feet away with his back against a boulder.

Like Derek, Stiles waved off help. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m just chillin’.”

Stan holstered his weapon and pulled a flashlight from his pocket. “The hell you are,” he snapped.

Stiles winced as the beam of light hit his face. “I’m fine,” he said again.

Stan crouched down, grabbed Stiles’ chin, and turned his head from side to side. “Oh, yeah, tough guy? What’s this?” He indicated the knot on Stiles’ forehead where Kate had hit him, then the bruises on his neck where the collar had bit into this skin. “And what the hell is this shit?” He yanked Stiles forward and shone the flashlight on his back, where the bloody marks of Peter’s claws were still fresh.

Stiles raised his eyes and looked at Derek. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes were dark with terror. Derek shuddered as well, remembering what Peter had tried to do. 

He told himself to get up and go over to Stiles, to hold him in his arms, but he couldn’t seem to move. His adrenaline was crashing, he realized. He could feel the night sky tilt and turn over his head, and the edges of his vision grew dark.

Stan continued, ignoring Stiles’ silence. “And why is your aura flickering?”

Stiles squinted at him. “My what now?”

“Your aura, dipshit.” Stan grabbed Stiles’ chin again and shone the flashlight in his eyes. “What did you do?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and glared at Derek. “I told you not to let him do magic!”

“I had to,” Stiles insisted before Derek could answer. “Derek was dying.”

“What’s that?” Laura knelt by Derek’s side and gripped his shoulder. Derek stared at it her hand in bewilderment. 

“Derek!” Laura shook him until he looked in her face. “What happened?”

“Wolfsbane.” Stiles’ voice seemed to come from far away. 

“God-dammit!” Stan’s voice was loud and angry. “What the hell did you do?”

“I healed him.” Stiles sounded irritated. “Kate poisoned him,” he told Laura. “She said she had an antidote in her car.”

“So that’s what this is,” Laura exclaimed. She reached into her jacket, pulled out a leather pouch, and unrolled it, exposing a large syringe that looked way too much like the one Kate had used on Derek, only this time the liquid inside was blood-red instead of purple.

The voices in the background burbled suddenly, like they were underwater, and Derek couldn’t make out their meaning anymore. Other bodies crowded around him, making him feel anxious and claustrophobic.

Laura looked uncertain. “Should I give it to him?” she asked someone.

Derek shook his head, the movement making him even dizzier. “Hell, no!” he said, but it sounded more like a feeble grunt.

Laura peered into his face. “Derek?”

Derek tried again. “I’m fine now,” he said, but it came out as, “Ergh nine na.”

_Oh, shit_ , he thought.

_I don’t need another shot!_ he insisted. 

“Ergh na nee ugguggah sha!”

_Crap!_

“Let me do it.” Laura’s face was gone, and Melissa was there, expertly pulling the cap off the syringe and flicking the needle with her fingernail. With surprising strength, she grabbed Derek’s arm and placed the needle at the crook of his elbow.

“Derek, honey, you’re just going to feel a little pinch.”

_Liar!_ Derek thought frantically. _Poke not pinch! Poke not pinch!_

“It will all be over in a second.” Melissa smiled reassuringly.

Derek wasn’t convinced; still, he braced himself for the painful poke.

It didn’t come.

Instead, the syringe rolled out of Melissa’s fingers and onto the earth.

Confused, Derek looked at it, then back up at Melissa’s face.

Her mouth dropped open in shock.

Her eyes widened, whites showing in terror, as she slowly raised her gaze up…up…up…

As Derek sensed the presence behind him, he heard Stiles’ voice, abruptly loud and clear like tuning in a radio station.

“Son of a bitch!” he said. “Why can’t this motherfucker stay dead?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know -- why can' t this story end?


	63. Chapter 63

When last we left our heroes…

_Melissa expertly pulled the cap off the syringe and flicked the needle with her fingernail. With surprising strength, she grabbed Derek’s arm and placed the needle at the crook of his elbow._

_“Derek, honey, you’re just going to feel a little pinch.”_

_Derek wasn’t convinced; still, he braced himself for the painful poke._

_It didn’t come._

_Instead, the syringe rolled out of Melissa’s fingers and onto the earth._

_Confused, Derek looked at it, then back up at Melissa’s face._

_Her mouth dropped open in shock._

_Her eyes widened, whites showing in terror, as she slowly raised her gaze up…up…up…_

_As Derek sensed the presence behind him, he heard Stiles’ voice, abruptly loud and clear like tuning in a radio station._

_“Son of a bitch!” he said. “Why can’t this motherfucker stay dead?”_

And now…Chapter 63!

***

Derek knew that humans still told stories about werewolves—that somehow, buried far beneath the clouded surface of their collective consciousness, the truth lived on.

Most of the time, though, they got it dead wrong. It’s as if the human brain couldn’t imagine a shape-shifter as anything but a monster. They couldn’t see the beauty and grace and power of the shift, the sheer joy of having two forms to live in, play in, love in. 

Derek had seen pictures—stills from old movies, mostly—showing werewolves as a human men with ridiculously furry faces. Others were distorted amalgams, twisted combinations of human limbs and wolf claws that killed without mercy.

And even though his pack had told him that Peter’s shift was different, Derek hadn’t quite been able to picture it, even with Lydia’s drawing.

 _Not a wolf_ , they insisted.

 _A giant mutant freak_ , Jackson said.

 _Misshapen_ , Allison explained. _Like a wolf walking on two legs._

Now Derek understood.

Peter’s form was a human’s worst nightmare of a shifter—huge, ferocious, malformed, and on a deeper level, just _wrong_.

An abomination.

 _Sometimes the shape you take reflects the kind of person you are,_ Derek remembered.

No wonder the pack had been so terrified of Peter.

And now…

Long, twisted limbs, sticky with blood, unfolded from the dark entrance of the cave like an enormous spider. The stench of burnt flesh and fur intensified, and there came an ear-shredding scream of mingled pain and fury.

“Back!” As Peter emerged from the cave, Derek managed to find his voice. “Everyone get back!” 

Derek sensed the others scrambling away in terror and tried to follow, but his weakened limbs gave way. 

Peter leapt from the cliff. The ground trembled as he landed heavily, and he gave another tortured scream of pain on impact.

Then he raised his head and looked at Derek. One eye was damaged beyond repair, the pale pupil dull and cloudy, but the other gleamed red.

He parted his blackened lips and smiled.

“Derek!” Stiles started forward, but Stan pulled him back. 

Derek met Stan’s eyes. “Get him out of here,” he rasped.

Stan nodded grimly, grabbed Stiles around the waist, and hauled him away. 

“Lemme go!’ Stiles protested, his limbs flailing as he fought against his uncle’s grip. “Derek!”

Peter’s body was so damaged he couldn’t straighten fully; still, he managed to lurch toward Derek with surprising speed, his breath wheezing in his chest with every staggering step. He raised his claws—like the rest of him, they were larger than a normal were’s, with a wicked curve. 

_This is it._ Derek thought numbly.

Then a figure moved past him, running full-tilt toward Peter.

“Isaac, no!” 

Ignoring Derek’s cry, Isaac hit Peter low, using the larger wolf’s momentum to flip him over his shoulder.

Just like Derek had taught him.

Just like they’d trained together a thousand times.

Derek felt a swell of pride in his chest as Peter hit the ground with a massive thud.

But Isaac’s victory was short-lived. Peter struck back, hurling Isaac against the cliff. The rock face shattered on impact, stones clattering to the earth. Isaac, too, fell to the ground, where he lay motionless.

Derek heard cries of anguish from the pack behind him and felt a surge of white-hot rage, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. 

His claws sprang out, his fangs dropped, and he drew himself up to a crouch.

He opened his mouth to roar, but another roar came first—not from Peter, but from behind Derek.

It was the loudest, most powerful roar he had ever heard, a roar that shook the treetops and rattled the rocks, a roar Derek recognized in the very marrow of his bones.

Even as his pack cowered, Derek turned his head and looked behind him.

There on the slope stood the largest, most majestic wolf Derek had ever seen.

As the echoes of his roar died away, the wolf snarled, his razor-sharp teeth gleaming ivory in the darkness. Then he crouched, his immense, powerful limbs rippling under his jet-black fur. 

The wolf leapt, impossibly far, soaring across the clearing and over Derek’s head, landing square between Derek and Peter.

When he landed, the earth shook.

Peter crouched, hissing. As he spoke, his voice gurgled hideously in his throat and blood ran freely from between his fangs.

“Grayson.”

Grayson shifted into human form, looking impeccable as always in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and crimson tie. He regarded Peter, his face impassive. 

“Brother.” Grayson bit off the word, as if it tasted bitter in his mouth. “Get the hell away from my son.”

Peter chittered with laughter, sounding more like a hyena than a wolf, and his lone eye went to Derek. His meaning was clear.

_Mine._

“No.” Grayson said, his voice rumbling like thunder. “ **Mine**.” His deep voice sent shivers down Derek’s spine, and he could feel the flutter of reaction in his pack. 

“I speak as High Alpha of the Hale Clan,” Greyson continued, “in the name of Anhale and in the presence of witnesses. Laura?” he added without turning his head.

Laura’s voice was faint but clear. “I so witness.”

“Excellent.” Grayson stepped closer, straightening his shoulders and raising his chin. “Peter Hale, I take your life, both for the crime of high treason and the attempted murder of my son.” 

Grayson half-shifted, claws emerging. “Now die, you miserable cur.” 

As he spoke, Grayson’s body rippled with power, his dark evening clothes rapidly transforming back into black fur as he re-assumed his full wolf form. 

Then, with a mighty roar, he attacked.

***

The fight was brief and beyond brutal, even by werewolf standards. Peter parried Grayson's first blow, then attacked in turn. There were a few fierce skirmishes, the combatant's ferocious growls followed by meaty thuds as the two exchanged blows. Blood flew, spraying the rock face.

With a chill, Derek realized he was witnessing the violent release of a lifetime of pent-up hatred and anger.

Peter attacked again. Grayson spun away just in time as his brother's claws missed his neck by inches, raking his shoulder instead. He seized Peter by the throat with his jaws and shook him with all his strength.

Peter's bones audibly snapped, and he went limp in Grayson's jaws.

Grayson crouched, snarling and whuffling. When Peter didn't move, Grayson sunk his claws deep into his charred body. With a final blood-curdling snarl, he ripped the corpse into two pieces and flung them to the winds. (Derek flinched as a sticky piece of carcass sailed overhead and landed with a squelch nearby.)

For a moment, Grayson panted heavily, shoulders heaving. 

Then he straightened slowly, threw back his head, and howled in triumph.

All the weres in the clearing howled with him, dropping to their knees to honor his victory. 

With a shudder, Grayson’s body shifted again, becoming a tall, handsome man in evening clothes, the fine fabric of his jacket slightly torn on one shoulder.

As he walked toward Derek, he pulled out a linen handkerchief and wiped the blood from his lips.

“Don’t tell your mother,” he said with a wink, “but I think I prefer this to a night at the opera.”

Derek laughed.

Then he threw up.

***  
***

“Easy.” Derek felt Grayson’s hand on the back of his neck, grounding him. “Easy, son.”

Shuddering, Derek spat the last of the bile from his mouth. He tried to climb off his hands and knees, but his limbs shook.

“Stay down,” Grayson told him. “That’s an order,” he added.

Derek shook his head. “Isaac,” he croaked.

He tried to get up again, but Grayson restrained him. “I’m on it,” he said. “You stay here.” He rose, towering above Derek in the darkness. “Laura.”

Derek heard Laura approach and shook his head again, stubbornly. “My pack.”

“Everyone’s fine.” Laura rubbed her hand soothingly up and down Derek’s back. 

“Isaac.”

“Dad’s taking his pain.”

Derek raised his head. Grayson knelt by Isaac, the pack hovering anxiously. Derek saw the veins on Grayson’s large hands blacken, then let out a breath of relief as Isaac moved his head groggily. 

Melissa crouched by his side and took his other hand. “Isaac, honey, squeeze my hand, okay?”

Derek relaxed further as Isaac’s hand moved in Melissa’s grip. 

“Atta boy.” Melissa smiled encouragingly as Isaac sat up, blinking around him in confusion.

“See?” Laura said to Derek. “He just needs a few minutes to heal.” She helped Derek sit up, then peered anxiously at him, her pale face seeming to swim in the darkness. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Derek lied. 

Laura snorted. “Sure you are.”

“Seriously,” he slurred. 

“Uh-huh,” Laura said. “I’m not taking any chances.” She reached for the syringe, still miraculously in one piece on the floor of the clearing.

But as she did, a polished shoe came down on the syringe, crushing it underfoot with a sudden snap.

Laura and Derek looked up in shock to see Deaton standing above them.

“What are you doing?” Laura asked angrily. “Kate poisoned Derek with wolfsbane, and that was the antidote.”

“There’s no such thing,” Deaton replied grimly. As he stepped back, Laura and Derek recoiled from the familiar sharp scent that rose from the tiny shards of broken glass.

“Is that…?” Laura’s voice trailed off in horror.

Deaton nodded. “An exotic strain, to be sure, but still wolfsbane.”

“That means…” Laura stared at Derek. “Kate was going to kill you after all.”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “Peter. He was the one who gave it to her.” 

One final betrayal, he thought. Peter’s alliance with Kate had been a lie all along. He never meant to give her what she wanted. He never meant for Derek to live. 

For some reason, the thought shook Derek to his core. He felt another wave of weakness wash over him and for a few moments he struggled to breathe.

Then he felt foolish, and slightly guilty. Why should he be surprised that Peter would kill his own biological son without a second thought? Peter used everyone, seeing them only as tools in his quest for power—or worse yet, playthings to be toyed with, like a malicious child pulling wings off butterflies. 

_So why did it still hurt?_ Derek wondered.

Grayson spoke, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Doctor Deaton, please take the…remains of my brother and cremate them.” Grayson nodded toward the pieces of Peter that lay about the clearing. His voice deepened. “And then do whatever you need to do to ensure he never rises again.”

“Yes, Alpha Hale,” Deaton replied, with surprising deference. As hurried about his gruesome task, Derek noticed that his hands were trembling and his handsome dark skin had an ashen tone. Something had rattled him badly, Derek surmised. 

“May I be of assistance?” Stan asked.

Again to Derek’s surprise, Deaton agreed. Stan drew his spell-knife and carved a circle in the earth, leaving a line of blue fire in his wake. Deaton threw Peter’s remains inside the circle, where they burst into flames. As Deaton chanted under his breath, smoke rose to the sky, stinging Derek’s eyes.

Then he stiffened with alarm as a series of howls shattered the night, followed by the thundering sound of running feet on the packed earth. A small group of wolves poured over the edge of the rise and down into the clearing.

Derek’s pack turned at bay, but froze at Grayson’s command.

“Hold.” Grayson stood, his manner calm, and regarded the intruders with one raised eyebrow. 

“Took you long enough,” he observed.

The wolves shifted, and Derek relaxed, recognizing Grayson’s elite guard. The lead wolf, a burly Beta, regarded Grayson with mournful eyes.

“Alpha,” he said reproachfully. “How can we protect you when you leave us behind?”

Grayson smirked. “I told you to keep up.” He nodded toward Isaac. “There are injured wolves in my son’s pack. Please tend to them and escort them safely back to Hale House. As for the remains of these Rogues…” Grayson glanced around the clearing in distaste. “Burn them.”

The Beta straightened. “Yes, Alpha.”

As the guards moved about the clearing, Derek felt his body relax fully. With the last of the wolfsbane out of his system, his mind finally cleared, and for the first time it occurred to him to wonder how their rescue had happened.

Laura’s thoughts must have echoed his own. “Dad,” she asked. “What are you even doing here? And how did you know where to find us? I tried to call you after Kate attacked, but—”

“I was already _en route_ ,” Grayson interrupted smoothly, giving Derek a hand up off the ground. “But unfortunately my cell phone doesn’t seem to work up here.”

Laura frowned. “You knew what Kate was planning?”

“Yes, I was tipped off.” Grayson held up a hand to forestall any more questions, and lowered his voice. “I’ll explain privately.”

Laura obediently closed her mouth, but another voice spoke up.

“Thanks for the assist there, chief,” it drawled. “But, for the record, we were doing fine on our own.”

Derek winced. “Stiles.” 

“It’s true,” Stiles insisted. “We had the situation well in hand.” In the ghastly glow of the pyre, he looked exhausted and pale; still, he glared defiantly at Grayson.

Fortunately, Grayson regarded Stiles with bemusement rather than anger. “Stiles Stilinski, I presume?”

“You betcha.” Stiles gave Grayson a laconic wink, then held out his hand to Derek. “Come on, babe,” he said firmly. “Let’s go home.”

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, kids! More soon!


	64. Chapter 64

_When last we left our heroes…_

_“Thanks for the assist there, chief,” Stiles drawled to the High Alpha. “But, for the record, we were doing fine on our own.”_

_Derek winced. “Stiles.”_

_“It’s true,” Stiles insisted. “We had the situation well in hand.” In the ghastly glow of the pyre, he looked exhausted and pale; still, he glared defiantly at Grayson._

_Fortunately, Grayson regarded Stiles with bemusement rather than anger. “Stiles Stilinski, I presume?”_

_“You betcha.” Stiles gave Grayson a laconic wink, then held out his hand to Derek. “Come on, babe,” he said firmly. “Let’s go home.”_

And now…. _Cinderstiles_ , Chapter 64!

***  
***

Dawn was breaking when they arrived back at Hale House. Pale, wintery light burned through the morning fog, illuminating the raindrops that trembled on the tips of each blade of grass, making them gleam like pearls. 

The serenity of the scene was in shocking contrast to the torn and eviscerated bodies scattered across the clearing. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight.

Derek squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Go inside,” he said. “I’ll take care of this. Go,” he added when Stiles hesitated. “You’re dead on your feet.”

“Am not,” Stiles answered automatically, then swayed alarmingly. 

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“Fine, I’m going,” Stiles snapped. He trudged toward the house, then turned and walked backwards. 

“Gonna hit the shower,” he said, waggling his brows in a manner that was clearly mean to be seductive. “Care to join me?”

“In a minute.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, then stomped up the porch and into the house.

Derek turned back to the lawn, but Grayson was already in command of the situation. At his nod, his guards dragged the bodies toward the woods for another pyre. Allison, ever practical, walked among them retrieving her arrows.

“You shoulda seen us, Derek,” Jackson crowed, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. “We kicked ass!”

“No kidding.” Derek stared at the dead, startled by the sheer number of them. He curled his hand around the back of Jackson’s neck. “I’m proud of you. All of you,” he added, as the rest of the pack limped toward the porch, followed by the adults. “But how were you able to find us?” he asked, remembering those desperate moments after Kate had taken Stiles…

_Derek’s phone rang, and his heart jumped. He scrambled for the cell, which he’d left in the hall._

_But it wasn’t Kate’s name on the caller ID—it was Scott’s. No doubt he’d sensed his Alpha’s distress._

_Almost at the same moment, Laura’s phone rang as well._

_“It’s Erika,” she said. “Should I—"_

_“No.”_

_Laura looked at him in surprise._

_“This is between me and Kate,” Derek said. “I don’t want the pack involved.”_

_“Kate may have other rogues with her,” Laura argued._

_Derek set his jaw. “Then they’re dead.”_

Derek turned to Laura in confusion. “I told you not to involve them.”

“You did,” Laura admitted. Then she grinned, her teeth gleaming white in a face dark-smudged with ash and blood. “But you’re not my Alpha, little brother, so about three seconds after you left I called everybody.”

“Yeah, it was totally Avengers Assemble!” Scott said, grinning widely. “We broke like ten speed limits getting here.”

“It’s a good thing, too,” Laura said. “If it had been just him and me”—she gestured to Alphonse—“we might have been in trouble.”

“Might have?” Erika smirked.

To Derek’s surprise, Laura ruffled Erika’s hair affectionately. “Yeah, _might_. We were doing fine on our own.” She winked at Alphonse, who smiled shyly as he helped Boyd carry Isaac up the front steps, his arms slung around their shoulders.

“Hey, what about me?” Stan put in, holding the door open for them. “I helped.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Sure, if by ‘help’ you mean bleeding all over the place.” 

“Hilarious,” Stan drawled. He visibly flinched as Melissa followed the pack up the steps. 

“You!” She snapped at him. “Inside!”

“Um, why?” Stan asked.

“You can make yourself useful and help me set up a triage station.”

“Mom, we’re fine,” Scott argued, following Melissa into the house. “We’re healed already, except for Isaac.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You should know I faint at the sight of blood,” Stan called after Melissa as he brought up the rear.

As the screen door closed behind him, Derek turned to see Lydia surveying the carnage with grim satisfaction. Her delicate skin was pale with exhaustion, but her hair was still perfectly braided and it looked like she had touched up her lip color on the way home. 

“Peter underestimated us,” she said. 

“He always did,” Derek replied quietly, remembering their very first conversation on the same spot.

Lydia smiled, but her eyes were dark and sober. “I’m not just talking about the fighting skills you taught us,” she said. “I mean our cohesion as a group, as a pack. You gave us that.”

Derek blushed and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I do,” Lydia said firmly. “Don’t get me wrong. We loved each other before, no matter how much we all argued. But we weren’t really a pack until you came along. We needed an Alpha, but not just any Alpha. We needed you.”

Derek felt his eyes sting. “I don’t know what to say,” he confessed.

Lydia smiled fondly at him. “Dork,” she said. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, then followed the others inside.

“She’s right,” Laura said. “You’re a good Alpha.”

Derek had forgotten she was there. Embarrassed, he scrubbed his eyes, which were gritty from smoke and lack of sleep. The roar of an engine startled him, and he looked over to see Deaton firing up his Harley. Grayson stood next to the bike, his head close to Deaton’s as they spoke. The emissary still looked surprisingly shaken. Unfortunately, the noise made hearing the conversation impossible, even for werewolf ears.

Which was Grayson’s intent, Derek realized.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” he muttered.

Laura’s eyes lit up. She grabbed Derek’s hand and pulled him indoors, then lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Get this,” she said. “Deaton’s sister was the one who revived Peter after the fire.”

Derek gaped at her. “Morrell? Get out!”

“It’s true,” Laura insisted. 

“What?” Derek sputtered. “How? Why?”

“She worked some major resurrection mojo on him. As for why…” Laura shrugged. “She was making a play for Beacon Hills.”

“That’s right,” Derek said slowly. “Deaton told me she’d coveted the territory for years. So, she revived Peter in the hopes he’d make an alliance with her?”

“Exactly. Their deal was that when he became High Alpha, she’d be the new Emissary.”

“That solves one mystery,” Derek said. But there was still something about the rescue that eluded him. He rubbed his eyes again and tried to think, forcing himself to recall those first moments after Peter’s death...

_As the guards moved about the clearing, Derek felt his body relax fully. With the last of the wolfsbane out of his system, his mind finally cleared, and for the first time it occurred to him to wonder how their rescue had happened._

_Laura’s thoughts must have echoed his own. “Dad,” she asked. “What are you even doing here? And how did you know where to find us? I tried to call you after Kate attacked, but—”_

_“I was already en route,” Grayson interrupted smoothly. “But unfortunately my cell phone doesn’t seem to work up here.”_

_Laura frowned. “You knew what Kate was planning?”_

_“Yes, I was tipped off.”_

Derek opened his eyes in sudden alarm. “Peter said he had spies in the Hale clan,” he said. “And Dad said he’d been tipped off about the attack. What happened?”

Laura’s expression became grim. “Get this,” she said, then broke off as Grayson loomed in the doorway. 

“We’ll discuss this later,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “In private.”

Derek blushed, feeling like a pup caught with his paw in the treat jar. Laura dropped her gaze. 

“Yes, Alpha,” they said in unison.

***

Derek barely remembered staggering up the stairs and finding Stiles already asleep in their bed. He thought about taking a shower, then thought better of it, curled protectively around Stiles, and slept for the next 18 hours. He was vaguely aware of his pack coming and going, murmuring reassurances when he reached for them.

On Monday, all the pack members except Isaac and Stiles heroically managed to drag themselves to school. Fortunately, it was a short week due to the Thanksgiving holiday, so they only had to manage a few days of pretending to be normal high school students rather than supernatural creatures of the night. So far, all of the wounds sustained in battle healed quickly and cleanly, and Isaac’s broken leg was on the mend. Derek had feared that the injury Peter inflicted might be permanent, given his super-charged, risen-from-the-dead, Demon-Alpha status, but his power had apparently faded with his life force. 

Now it was Tuesday morning, and both Stiles and Isaac were heading to school, Isaac sporting a crutch and both sporting an extremely poor attitude. They could be heard arguing loudly in the kitchen from where Derek and Grayson sat on the back steps overlooking the garden, drinking coffee and eating freshly-baked scones. Laura had disappeared with Alphonse, a fact Derek preferred not to acknowledge in his father’s presence, while Stan had likewise taken off on a mysterious errand.

That was another conversation Derek preferred to put off, he remembered, given Stan’s warning about taking Stiles to Poland. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about the matter since their argument in the cave. He winced, remembering…

_“The witch who sent the assassins after Stiles came to Beacon Hills,” Derek told Peter. “He lifted the curse before I killed him.” Derek bit his lip. He knew what he was about to say would shatter Stiles’ trust. But if it saved his life, it would be worth it._

_He took another deep breath and spoke to Peter. “There’s just one problem. The witch was here in Beacon Hills for months. He cast a spell to drain Stiles’ magic and because of it...he’s dying.”_

_Stiles stared at Derek in confusion. “No,” he said. “You killed Król. The spell is done. I’m better now.”_

_Derek shook his head. “Król took too much of your power,” he explained. “It needs to be replenished, or you’ll die.”_

_Stiles scowled. “Says who?”_

_“Your uncle.”_

_Stiles’ eyes widened in outrage. “That asshole? He didn’t say anything to me.”_

_“That’s because…” Derek took another deep breath. “In order for you to be cured, and learn to use your magic properly, you need to go back to Poland with him. Your family can heal you,” he added when Stiles’ face fell. “And they can teach you how to ground your magic so you don’t burn out.”_

_Stiles slumped back on his heels, and when he spoke, his voice was tiny. “You’d send me away?”_

_Derek raised his chin. “To save your life—yes, I would.”_

_“For how long?_

_“As long as it takes.”_

_Tears sprang into Stiles’ eyes, but he clung to his anger. “Do I get a say in all this?” he asked, his tone sarcastic._

_“No,” Derek said quietly._

_Stiles looked away, rubbing at his eyes. “When were you gonna tell me, Derek?”_

_“To be honest,” Derek said, “I was going to wait until you arrived in Poland, and then tell you that you weren’t coming back.”_

_Stiles stared at him, mouth open in shock. Then he scowled again, his features closing up like a fist. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” he snarled. “You complain about your family, but you keep just as many secrets as they do.”_

_Derek flinched as the words hit home, but managed to keep his tone calm. “That may be true, but I’m still your Alpha and you will obey me.”_

A cupboard door slammed sharply, interrupting Derek’s memories, and voices rose again in the kitchen. 

He risked a glance at Grayson, but the Alpha merely sipped his coffee, seemingly unperturbed as he gazed out on the garden. The rain had finally stopped, and the birds were singing cheerfully.

The back door banged open, and Stiles scowled down at them.

“We’re taking off,” he told Derek. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m fine,” Derek said. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Grayson, and Derek winced. So far Stiles had shown Grayson more attitude than deference. Fortunately, the High Alpha seemed amused rather than offended. Currently, he was tossing crumbs from his scone to the songbirds, who hopped closer to retrieve them.

“We’re fine,” Derek said. “But you should get going. You’re late.”

Stiles gave an annoyed shrug. “Study period. Who cares?”

“Go,” Derek said firmly.

Stiles huffed in impatience. “Fine. But you’ll text me…”

“If anything comes up,” Derek said. “Promise.”

With a final scowl, Stiles banged the door behind him, and the songbirds took off in a flutter of wings. 

A few moments later, Derek heard the front door slam and the hollow thump of Isaac’s crutch across the porch, followed by a throaty growl as Stiles’ battered Jeep came to life, the loud throbbing sound as it chugged down the driveway, and the deep silence that returned the noise faded away. 

“He’s got spark,” Grayson said mildly. 

“What?” Derek blinked in confusion. 

“Your little Omega. He’s got spark. Heart.” Grayson drained his cup, his lips curling in what almost seemed a smile. “And he makes an excellent cup of coffee.” He tossed the dregs of his coffee into the garden, then rose and went into the house. Derek followed in his wake.

Grayson’s guards were currently patrolling the preserve, so the two of them were the only ones in the house. As always, the morning quiet was startling after the noise and activity of the pack.

Inside, Grayson refilled his coffee cup from the pot, then reached for the scones, which Stiles had placed under a tea towel to keep them warm. He took an appreciative sniff of the fragrant aroma, selected the biggest one, and bit into it with a grunt of satisfaction. He seemed impossibly tall and broad-shouldered in the narrow kitchen, his physical presence filling the room. 

Derek took a deep breath. “Alpha, we need to talk.”

For a heart-stopping moment, Grayson froze, but when he spoke, his voice was mild. 

“Indeed, we do,” he said. “But I’ve been enjoying the peace and quiet. I’d forgotten how restful the wilderness can be.”

Derek took another breath. “I want to see my mother.”

“Certainly,” Grayson said. “Kara—”

“My real mother,” Derek said, interrupting him. “Margery.”

Grayson’s broad shoulders stiffened again, then slumped. For a long moment he was silent. Then: “Peter told you.”

“Yeah.” Derek’s anger flared. “Yeah, he did, but what I want to know is why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

Grayson turned, sorrow written on his face. “Please sit down, Derek.”

“Why?” Derek goaded. “Why can’t we just—”

“Please,” Grayson repeated, but gently. “Sit down.”

Derek sat at the tiny kitchen table, and Grayson folded himself into the chair opposite him. For a long moment he stared down at the scratched linoleum, then spoke.

“Do you remember ‘The Bride’s Lament’?”

“What?” Derek asked, baffled.

Grayson finally looked him in the eye. “‘The Bride’s Lament,’ the old folk song. Do you remember it?”

“Of course.” Derek recalled telling Deaton about the song only a week or so prior...

_“It’s an old song,” Derek said. “Margery used to sing it to us. It’s about an Alpha who must leave his beloved mate to go…uh…”_

_“Service his pack?” Deaton asked delicately._

_“Yeah.” Derek blushed. “His loves his mate, but she can’t bear children, so their marriage is dissolved for the good of the Clan. They spend one final night together and then she watches him leave. In the end she dies alone in the forest.”_

“Sure, I remember,” Derek said, his anger redoubling. “My mother used to sing it to me. But what does it have to do with anything?”

Grayson wrapped his strong fingers around his coffee cup, as if to warm them.

“After Laura was born,” he said, “your mother—” 

He broke off, wincing. “I mean, Kara couldn’t have any more pups. We tried, of course, but they were both stillborn.” 

For a moment, Grayson’s expression showed profound grief. Then he took another breath and continued. “My father Nathaniel wanted me to set Kara aside.”

Derek stared at him. “Just like in ‘The Bride’s Lament.’”

“Yes.” Grayson gave a stiff nod. “He insisted I have at least two children to ensure the continuation of our bloodline.”

“An heir and a spare,” Derek murmured, remembering Peter’s words.

“Precisely. It makes sense from a strategic point of view,” Grayson admitted. “Having only one heir makes a Clan too vulnerable. If that heir were eliminated, and there were a dispute over succession, it could destroy the cohesion within the Clan, which in turn makes us vulnerable to attack from outside rivals. And after what had happened between Peter and me—”

“There was a duel,” Derek interrupted, remembering the book he had shown Stiles on the Hale Clan’s history. “You beat Peter in a duel, and afterwards his name was erased from the records, like he never existed.”

“Precisely.” Grayson shook his head again. “There were a handful of Clan members who questioned that move. Traditionalists,” he added at Derek’s questioning look. “In their eyes, Peter was still the elder, no matter how batshit crazy he was. So my father was paranoid about ensuring the succession, and I guess I can’t blame him for that. He was High Alpha as well as my sire, which meant I had to obey.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “But I didn’t want—” 

His voice broke, and he cleared his throat, then looked at Derek, his pale green eyes intense beneath his dark bushy brows. “I love my wife,” he stated. “I love her so much I couldn’t bear the thought of divorcing her, especially for something that wasn’t her fault.”

“Wait.” Derek closed his eyes, trying to focus. “None of this makes any sense. Peter said you bartered with him, gave him the territory in exchange for me.”

“Technically, that’s true, but it’s more complicated than that.”

Derek opened his eyes. “Of course it is,” he said, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“Indeed.” Grayson smiled grimly, then rose and poured his coffee into the sink, setting the mug aside. 

“You should rinse that.”

Grayson turned, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

“Um.” Derek blushed. “You should rinse the coffee from the sink, otherwise it will stain the enamel and Stiles will never let me hear the end of it.”

Grayson’s lips quirked, but he turned on the faucet and rinsed the dregs from the sink with the running water. 

“Satisfied?” he asked, turning back. 

Derek blushed again. “Yeah.”

Grayson hesitated for a moment, leaning against the sink. “I think,” he said slowly, “that the next part of our conversation might require something stronger.”

***

They found the ‘bane brandy hidden in the back of the break-front in the formal dining room. 

Grayson blew the dust from the label and raised his eyebrows. “Only the best for the Hales,” he murmured. 

He opened the bottle and poured a portion into a crystal decanter, then gently swirled the liquid, holding the decanter up to the sunlight to admire the deep amber color. 

“Are you sure that’s safe to drink?” Derek asked, wrinkling his nose. The smell was making him light-headed. “How long has it been in there?”

“Probably since her day.” Grayson nodded toward the painting of Margaret-Maude Hale, resplendent on the wall in all her imported finery. “And there’s only one way to find out.”

He cautiously sniffed the brandy, then poured two fingers into a crystal glass and raised it in a toast to Margaret’s portrait.

“Tails up,” he said cheerfully, and knocked it back. 

He managed to swallow, then bent in half, wheezing. “Holy crap!”

“Are you okay?” Derek asked anxiously.

Grayson winked at him with a watery eye. “Never better.” He grabbed the decanter and the glass and gestured to Margaret-Maude again.

“Let’s go outside,” he said. “I feel too guilty drinking this with her watching me.”

***

To Derek’s surprise, Grayson settled on the front steps rather than on one of the Adirondack chairs Boyd had built. He poured another glass of brandy, sipping it this time, then raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth.

“I’m not stalling,” Grayson said when Derek twitched in impatience. “Merely deciding where to begin.” 

He paused for another moment, then opened his eyes and spoke. 

“As you know, Peter was my parent’s eldest son—although not by much, less than eighteen months. When he was born, many families sought to make an alliance with the Hales by arranging a marriage. To everyone’s surprise, my father chose the suit of a Japanese clan. They were a very honorable family,” he added quickly, “but they had fallen on hard times. Still, they had strong ties here in California, and my father felt the business opportunities were promising.”

“Business opportunities?” Derek asked, his voice rising in outrage.

Grayson paused in the act of sipping his brandy and shot Derek another stern look. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

Derek subsided. “Yes, Alpha.”

Grayson swallowed his sip and grimaced. “At any rate, a high-ranking Alpha in that clan had just given birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Peter was to have both of them when he came of age. It was an extremely generous offer,” he added, glowering at Derek as if daring him to contradict him.

Derek had to bite his lip to keep from arguing. Stiles’ attitude was rubbing off on him, he realized. He waited until he was sure his voice was under control before replying. “Go on.”

Mollified, Grayson spoke again. “When it turned out Peter was a late blooder, my parents tried to keep it under wraps, of course, but word got it. It always does.” 

He shrugged. “The other clan started to make excuses to delay the marriage. That’s why my wedding to Kara was held first. Traditionally, I wouldn’t be able to marry until after Peter did.”

He paused, pondering. “Looking back, I think my father was already planning to have me unseat Peter. He knew that if I were married and already siring pups—stable, rather than wild like Peter—the more the old-fashioned members of the clan be more likely to support me.”

“Hence the added pressure on you to have another child,” Derek murmured.

“Now you’re getting it.” Grayson raised his glass to Derek in a mock-toast. “So there Kara and I were, happily married but desperately trying to breed again, when word came that the other clan was finally ready to conclude Peter’s marriage. My mother was overjoyed,” he added. “She always insisted that Peter was fine, that he just needed to get married and settle down into his responsibilities. To be honest, I think she couldn’t bear to see him as he truly was.” For a moment, his eyes were mournful.

“I don’t remember her,” Derek said quietly.

“She was a good woman, but she wasn’t…” Grayson tilted his head, clearly searching for the right word. “She wasn’t strong enough to be an Alpha’s mate,” he concluded. “And she spoiled Peter rotten.”

Grayson grimaced again, then shook himself, as if physically shedding difficult memories. “Anyway, the date was set, the arrangements were made, the clan gathered, and then, at the very last second, they backed out.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “They jilted Peter? Holy crap.”

“Indeed,” Grayson said grimly. “That’s when the High Council stepped in. They negotiated a settlement wherein the other clan had to pay massive financial penalties.”

“The Japan account,” Derek murmured.

Grayson raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

“Laura,” Derek said. “She’s responsible for the Japan account for Hale corporate. Is that how…”

“Hale got a foot in the door in the Japanese market? You bet it is.” Grayson nodded in satisfaction. “They were going to pay one way or another—in blood or money. Wisely, they chose money.” 

He paused, then spoke carefully. “Peter was sick—had been sick for a very long time—but I think the loss of honor is what truly sent him over the edge.”

Again, Derek forced himself to keep his voice steady. “Is that when he raped my mother?”

Grayson’s eyes flicked to Derek, then away. “Yes.”

He rose and tossed the rest of his drink into the bushes by the porch. Derek clenched his hands together to keep his claws from springing out. When he finally managed to speak, his voice broke. 

“Whose idea was it to take me away from her?” Grayson’s shoulders slumped in defeat, which just made Derek angrier. "Whose idea was it to pass me off as yours?” he persisted, his voice rising. “Whose idea was it to lie to me my entire life? Was it Nathaniel or Kara or you or all three—” 

He broke off as realization hit. “It was Malcom, wasn’t it?”

Grayson flinched.

“That motherfucker!” Derek roared, surging off the porch and into the yard. “God, I could kill him! Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Grayson held up both hands, palms out. “Derek, let me explain.”

Derek rounded on him. “Peter said Malcolm wanted Margery for himself,” he spat. “Is that true? Did he…” 

He broke off as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Oh, my God,” he said slowly. “Did Malcolm _touch_ her?” His voice rose in panic, and he felt his breath shorten in his chest. “Did he…like Peter, did he force her—?” 

Derek tried to go on, but he felt suddenly dizzy, and black spots danced before his eye. He could hear Grayson saying his name sharply as his legs folded under him, darkness swirling about his head. 

***

Derek came to seconds later and realized he was sitting on the porch steps, with his head between his knees. 

“That’s it.” He heard Grayson’s voice again. “Just take another breath.”

With Grayson coaching, Derek gulped air until his panic eased. Eventually, he realized Grayson was holding him by the shoulders, his Alpha touch soothing.

Derek shook him off, then ran his sleeve over his eyes, wiping tears he didn’t know he’d shed.

“Better?” Grayson asked.

Derek jerked his head in reply, then started as his phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket and stared at the screen in confusion. Stiles’ name swam in front of his eyes.

Grayson deftly took the phone from his hands and answered. “Yes, Stiles.”

Derek could hear Stiles’ voice, frantic on the other end. He grabbed for the phone, but Grayson moved out of reach.

“Yes, he did, but he’s fine now,” he said.

“Lemme talk to him!” Derek hissed.

Grayson ignored him. “No, now is not a good time,” he told Stiles firmly. “No, I’ll have him call you back later. Goodbye.” He hit the off button, cutting off Stiles’ indignant squawk, then stared down at the phone in surprise.

“He sensed what was happening with you,” he murmured. “Not just your physical symptoms, but your feelings as well.”

“I told you he could,” Derek snapped.

“You did,” Grayson admitted, “but I didn’t credit it.” The phone rang again, no doubt Stiles calling back. This time Grayson shut it off.

“You’re just going to make him madder,” Derek warned.

“I’ll risk it.” Grayson smiled and slipped the phone in his pocket, then sat across from Derek and peered closely at him. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” Derek said. “Now tell me the rest.”

Grayson frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good—”

“ _Please_.” Derek winced as his voice broke again. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting tears. His head ached, and he felt wrung out, physically and emotionally. Still, he opened his eyes and spoke as calmly as he could. “Please just tell me the truth.”

Grayson sighed deeply. “Very well. As far as I know, Malcolm never touched Margery. It’s possible he may have admired her, but he never laid a paw on her.”

“As far as you know,” Derek said bitterly.

Grayson raised an eyebrow. “Margery may have been an Omega, but she was also a member of the High Alpha’s household. And Malcom may have been my Beta, but he held no blood connection to the Hales. He had no claim to her.”

“Unlike Peter,” Derek muttered.

“What Peter did was wrong,” Grayson said firmly. “My mother may not have admitted it, but my father did, and he made sure Margery was sent here to give birth in safety.” 

“Here?” Derek asked. “To this house?” No wonder the place seemed familiar, he realized. Beacon Hills truly was his home. His heart lightened a little at the thought, but he forced himself to focus on what Grayson was saying.

“We had recently re-acquired the territory after many years, but the fact hadn’t been publicized,” Grayson said. “It was a secure location, far away from Los Angeles. The two of you were guarded at all times, to keep you safe from Peter. He had some bizarre notion that the three of you could be a family.” Grayson’s lips twisted in distaste. “When I beat Peter in the duel…”

He stopped, then raised his eyes to Derek. “I didn’t kill him,” he said. “I should have. I should have ripped his throat out then and there. But my mother begged me to spare his life, so I did. It was a mistake.”

“You think?” 

Grayson ignored the sarcasm. “Instead, my father exiled him. Peter agreed to give up his claim to you and your mother in exchange for this territory.”

“It that when the old switcheroo happened?” Derek snarled. (Stiles would be proud of his sarcasm game, he told himself.)

Grayson looked pained. “It was a delicate time. As I’ve said, Nathaniel was pressuring me to divorce Kara. It would have been a tremendous loss of honor for her and her family.”

“That explains Malcolm’s motivation,” Derek sneered. “Go on,” he added before Grayson could remonstrate. “You needed another child to secure your claim, and I was handy, so you took me.”

“Our actions were not taken lightly, Derek,” Grayson snapped. “When Peter was deposed, the future of the Hale Clan was at stake and we did what we thought—”

“Did you ask her?” Derek interrupted. 

Grayson stared at him.

“Margery,” Derek said through his teeth. “My mother. Did you ask her what she wanted?”

Grayson looked away.

“I knew it,” Derek growled. He leaned closer. “Peter raped her, and then you stole her child. Both of you just took what you wanted.”

A muscle twitched in Grayson’s jaw. “She was allowed to raise you, Derek. No, let me finish,” he said as Derek started to object.

 _Stay calm_ , Derek told himself. It was the only way to get the answers he needed. He nodded stiffly, and gestured for Grayson to continue.

Grayson rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Do you remember the human story of Moses?”

Derek blinked in surprise. “I think so. Moses’ mother put him in a basket in the bulrushes to save him from the Egyptians, right?”

“Correct.” Grayson nodded. “Pharaoh’s daughter rescued Moses, and adopted him—”

“But hired his biological mother to nurse him,” Derek finished. “So that’s what you did with Margery.”

“Yes. It’s where Malcolm got the idea, eventually.” Grayson hesitated. 

Derek narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean eventually?”

Grayson took another breath. “You couldn’t…settle, at first. You cried when you were taken away from this place.” For a brief moment, shame crossed his face. 

For the third time in as many days, the pieces fell into place. “Is that why you and Kara gave me wolfsbane when I was a pup?” Derek asked. “As a sedative?”

“Yes. It was only for a little while,” Grayson added as Derek rose to his feet in rage. “Just until I could convince Kara to let Margery become part of our household.”

Derek pressed both hands against his mouth to keep from screaming. “And in the meantime,” he said stiffly, “you told everyone I was your son. There was even a media campaign, right? I’ve seen the newspaper clippings.”

Grayson rubbed his eyes again, the sunlight revealing the gray strands in his black hair. “Yes,” he said eventually. “Kara had been in seclusion already, after the second stillbirth. We thought getting out of the stress of the city might make it easier for her to carry to term.”

“So it was easy to convince people that she had gone away and had me.”

“Yes.”

“And that made it easier for traditionalists to support you against Peter.”

“Yes.”

“And my real mother was there all along. But only on the condition that she never told me the truth.”

“Yes. Trust me,” Grayson added, “there were worse options.”

“What could be worse than that?”

“She was allowed to raise you, Derek,” Grayson said reprovingly. “She was allowed to see you every day of your life.”

Derek growled and paced the porch, gripping his hair with both hands. A memory came to him…

_Eight years old, coming home from school in tears. The other children had teased him because he still shifted like a baby when he got excited or emotional. The teacher made Derek stay indoors at recess—which he hated—to punish him for losing control. Kara had had given him the “We’re not angry, we’re just disappointed” speech over dinner, and Grayson had capped it off with “People expect more from a Hale, son.” Derek felt sick to his stomach and couldn’t eat a thing._

_Later that evening Margery brought up a tray to his room, then held his aching head and stroked his hair while he sobbed with frustration and shame._

“What is it?” Grayson asked quietly.

“It’s just…” Derek fought tears again. “How?”

Grayson frowned. “Derek, I’ve explained—”

“No,” Derek said. “I’m not talking about what you did. I’m talking about Margery. How could she love me at all, after what Peter did to her? How could anyone love me, given what I am? Why didn’t she—” Derek couldn’t even speak the words. The idea was utterly unthinkable in werewolf culture.

“Derek, come here. Come here,” Grayson said again when Derek hesitated.

Derek sat reluctantly on the step, flinching when Grayson took his face in his large, strong hands.

“Derek, you were an innocent child. You are not responsible for what Peter did. You’re not,” he added when Derek started to object. “And who he was, what he did doesn’t taint who you are. Do you understand me?”

Derek shook his head, too overcome to speak. Grayson placed his hand on the back of Derek’s neck, grounding him.

“Derek, listen to me. No one, least of all your mother, wanted to get rid of you.”

“Malcolm did,” Derek objected. “He said I should have been put down at birth.”

“Forget Malcolm,” Grayson snapped. “We all loved you—Margery, Kara and I, Laura, my parents. All of us, from the moment you were born.” Grayson laughed gently. “Derek, you were literally the answer to our prayers.”

Derek remembered Kara’s face, the horrible night he learned Peter was his father.

_“No matter what happens,” Kara said fiercely, “I need you to know that I love you.” Her grip tightened. “Do you understand that?”_

_“Of course,” Derek stammered, unnerved by his mother’s intensity._

_Kara pulled Derek’s head toward her and kissed his forehead. ‘’You are my son, Derek,” she whispered against his brow, “and I will always I love you. Always. From the moment you were born, I knew…”_

Derek flinched at the memory. 

“What is it?” Grayson asked.

Derek frowned, trying to remember. “When I came back to LA this fall…and after I was sick, Margery was there, caring for me. But then she was gone…”

Grayson sighed and dropped his hands. “Kara sent her away,” he said flatly. “She was afraid.”

“Afraid I would find out the truth?”

“Yes. I’m not making excuses for her. Hell,” Grayson laughed, bitterly this time. “I’m not making excuses for anyone. But Derek, Kara truly does love you as her own. If you can—”

“I won’t see her.” Derek shook his head. “Not now, maybe not ever.”

Grayson held up his hands. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking to consider her position, and to have some compassion.”

“Okay.” Derek took a deep breath, realizing to his chagrin that he wasn’t out of tears after all. “Margery,” he choked out. “I want to see her. Now. Please, Alpha.”

Grayson gave a firm nod. “Of course,” he said simply. “I’ll arrange it.”

“Thank you.” Embarrassed, Derek wiped his eyes. 

Grayson let out a deep breath. “So,” he said. “Any more questions?”

“A few.”

“Very well.” Grayson visibly steeled himself. “Fire away.”

Derek remembered his argument with Laura at the air-strip the night he returned from Los Angeles…

_Derek whirled on Laura. “Do you have any idea what this is like? To find out that I’m some…that Peter…” Derek felt tears start in his eyes, and took refuge in anger again. “And everyone knew. The only person who didn’t know was me.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest._

_“Derek.” Laura caught his wrist. Her fingers were cold. “You don’t understand.”_

_“Damn straight I don’t understand—"_

_“Derek!” Laura’s grip tightened and she shook his wrist in frustration. “You don’t understand!” She lowered her voice as tears filled her eyes. “Everyone was so happy when you were born.”_

_“Yeah, right,” Derek scoffed._

_“It’s true. I still remember how it felt when they told me you were my baby brother, when they let me hold you for the first time.” Laura smiled fondly. “You were so cute with your bushy little brows and tiny teeth”_

_Derek stared at her. “I thought you three were the perfect family until I came along and ruined everything.”_

_“No.” Laura shook her head, impatiently brushing tears from her cheeks. “We weren’t perfect. But when you were born, Mom and Dad started laughing together again. Everyone was so happy,” she insisted when Derek started to object. “No one cared about the other thing.”_

“When you told me Peter was my father, you let me think Kara had an affair with him.”

“Yes,” Grayson said reluctantly.

“When I got home, Laura and I argued,” Derek said slowly, trying to sift through the memories. “She knew Peter was my father, but when I confronted her, she said the same thing, that there had been an affair. Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

“Oh, Lord.” Grayson rolled his eyes. “Laura. Your sister was whip-smart, even as a child, as well you know. When she got old enough…” 

Grayson shrugged. “She simply did the math. She realized Kara and I weren’t together when you were supposed to have been conceived. Thankfully, she came to the wrong conclusion as to what happened, and we didn’t correct her. She was too young, we thought, to learn about what Peter had really done.”

Derek snorted. “That’s a lot of lies to keep track of.”

“You have no idea. It’s actually a relief to tell the truth.” Grayson winked, then rose and reached for the decanter.

“Dad.” Derek winced. “I mean, Alpha…”

“Derek.” Grayson turned back, looking deeply into Derek’s eyes. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness after everything I’ve done. I know I don’t deserve your trust. But it would be the greatest honor of my life if you could, one day, think of me as your father again—”

Derek surged to his feet and threw himself at Grayson. He felt the Alpha’s strong arms came around him and enfold him to his heart.

“Dad,” Derek said fiercely. 

“Derek.” He could hear the tears in Grayson’s voice. “My son.”

After a moment, they broke apart, clearing their throats and blinking away tears. Grayson clapped Derek’s shoulder.

“Good boy,” he said thickly.

Derek rubbed his eyes, trying to find his voice. Grayson’s words had reminded him of something.

“One last question,” he said finally, “and I need you to be totally honest with me.” 

Grayson bent and picked up the decanter. “Very well.”

“Thomas. Your driver,” he said when Grayson stared at him blankly.

“Ah, yes. Thomas.” Grayson turned away and poured more brandy into his glass. “What about him?”

Derek took a deep breath. “Is he my brother?”

Grayson drained his glass in one gulp, then turned and faced Derek.

“No,” he said. “He’s not.”

“Oh.” Derek blinked. “Well, good. I thought maybe—”

“He’s Laura’s brother.” 

***

Derek stared at Grayson. “Thomas is Laura’s brother? Are you kidding me?”

“No. Although technically,” Grayson tilted his head to one side, “I should say half-brother.”

Derek gaped. “How?”

To Derek’s surprise, Grayson blushed crimson. For a moment, he stared mournfully at his empty glass, then reluctantly set the decanter aside and raised his eyes. “Kara’s family was very traditional, as are the Hales, so on our honeymoon—”

“No way!” Derek burst out. “Dad, no way!”

He remembered frantically searching the forest the night before last, looking for the Hale honeymoon chamber as he recalled obscure werewolf customs…. 

_By tradition, a newly wedded Alpha and mate would remain secluded in the remote dwelling, not just for privacy but for safety: An Alpha in full mated lust would see any other wolf as an intruder, and had been known to kill kin and close friends without recognizing them._

_Instead, the mated pair would be attended by a small cadre of Omegas. It was considered a great honor to be chosen for the task. In older times, if the Alpha were male and his mate female, one or two of the Omegas would be impregnated as well. That way, if the Alpha’s mate were to die in childbirth, a wet nurse would be available to nourish the all-important heir._

_Derek chuckled to himself as he scrambled up a steep incline slippery with mud. He could just imagine his pack’s response to such barbaric customs. They would scoff at his explanation that the positon was a highly sought-after honor. After all, the child of such a union, although technically never recognized as legitimate offspring, was often given a position of responsibility and relative privilege in the Alpha’s household._

_Werewolf lore contained many popular stories of such “milk siblings.” Not only were they considered lucky, but they often took the role of trickster or jester, their antics and adventures providing a welcome relief from the heavy weight of werewolf custom and law._

_Derek stopped short, as suddenly as if he’d run into a wall._

_He’d remembered a face: Thomas the limo driver, his father’s errand boy. This was the first time Derek had seen him without his sunglasses, and the man’s eyes were startlingly pale in his dark skin._

“Dad!” he said again. “On your honeymoon? Why?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on it!” Grayson said acerbically. “But at the wedding, Kara’s mother insisted that her daughter be treated with all the customary niceties—”

“ _Niceties_?” Derek asked.

Grayson’s blush grew deeper. “I mean, that Kara be accorded all the…honors that were hers by right, given the high status of her marriage.”

“But nobody does that anymore!” Derek objected.

Grayson spread his arms wide. “That’s what I said!” 

“You cannot expect me to believe that Mom…I mean, Kara was okay with that.”

“Kara is old-fashioned. She believes in duty and sacrifice.” Grayson raised his chin. “It’s one of the things I admire most about her.” 

He sighed. “And in addition, it turns out her family has a history of difficulty in childbirth, a history they deliberately hid, knowing it would make Kara less desirable as a mate. So she was determined that, even if she didn’t survive, her child would.”

“Okay, but how…” Derek scratched his head. “I mean, the logistics alone…”

Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, visibly pained by the conversation. “These are very intimate details…”

“Dad, you said I could ask you anything.”

Grayson growled in frustration. “Kara brought several Omegas from her childhood home into the marriage, as is our custom. And she personally chose those who would…accompany us on our honeymoon. It’s considered a very great honor,” he added plaintively. “Grace had no complaints and was proud to give birth to a healthy son.”

“Grace?” Derek remembered the woman who served him and Grayson breakfast in Margery’s mysterious absence. “She’s Thomas’ mother?”

“Yes, and before you yell at me anymore, I gave him a good position in the household. He never complained, and I certainly never thought—” Grayson stopped abruptly, his face darkening.

Derek stepped closer. “Thomas was Peter’s spy, wasn’t he?”

Grayson sank into one of the chairs, then put his head in his hands.

“Yes,” he said finally. “When Peter came back from the dead…”

“Thanks to Deaton’s sister and her dark magic.”

“You know about that?” Grayson blinked up at Derek.

Derek nodded. “Laura told me.”

“Right.” Grayson sighed and rubbed his temples tiredly. “When Peter came back, he approached Thomas in secret and made him an offer. It turns out, he’d seen the bitterness and rage Thomas hid so well from the rest of us. Peter always was perceptive,” he added ruefully.

“Let me guess,” Derek said, “he offered Thomas a seat at his right hand when he regained his rightful place as High Alpha.”

“Of course,” Grayson said. “But at the last minute, Thomas couldn’t go through with the plot. He came to me and warned me what Peter had planned. He said you had been kind to him once, and he couldn’t let you be murdered in cold blood. That he’d given you his oath.”

Derek recalled the night in Los Angeles when Thomas had driven him to the club…

_Derek hesitated when the driver held the door of the limo open._

_“Where are you taking me?” he demanded._

_“I’m not allowed to tell you.” The driver paused. “But I swear on my honor that no harm will come to you.”_

“That’s how you were able to rescue us,” Derek murmured. “By the time Laura tried to contact you, you were already on your way here.”

“Yes.”

“Where is Thomas now?” Derek asked.

Grayson dropped his gaze. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, my God,” Derek said slowly. “Is he _dead_?”

Grayson rose and turned away.

“Dad, he’s your _son_! How could you?” 

Grayson spun back so quickly that Derek rocked back on his heels in alarm. “The fact that he is my son is the reason he’s still alive right now!” he snarled.

“Okay, okay.” Derek held up his hands to placate him.

Grayson ran a hand through his thick hair and, with a visible effort, reined in his emotions. 

“I had to do something,” he said quietly. “It is the High Alpha’s duty to punish traitors. By rights he should be dead. But I couldn’t bring myself…" His voice wavered. "I just couldn’t.”

“So what did you do?” Derek asked.

A flash of grief crossed Grayson’s face. “Exile.” 

“Okay,” Derek said carefully. “Maybe we can find him. I can offer him a place here,” he suggested eagerly. “No one needs to know.”

Grayson shook his head in frustration. “When an Alpha erases his mark, the pack bond dissolves. I can no longer sense Thomas, where he is nor what he’s feeling.”

Derek fell silent as the implications sank in. He remembered Alphonse appearing in the Preserve a few days after the Winter Clan had challenged Derek’s pack…

_Derek carefully made his way down the steep slope, stopping about six feet away from Alphonse._

_“What are you doing here?” he asked._

_“I seek temporary asylum,” Alphonse replied, still keeping his face averted from Derek’s. There was definitely something odd about his scent._

_“Show your face.”_

_Alphonse’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he raised his head. Even in the dim light, Derek could easily see the livid gash cut slantwise across his face. It was partially healed, but Derek could tell at a glance that it would never go away._

_“Langston did that.”_

_Alphonse inclined his head in acknowledgement._

_“Why?”_

_“Things went wrong,” Alphonse said simply. “Someone had to pay.”_

_Derek wasn’t surprised at the answer. Like Alphonse said, someone had to pay for the screw-up at the parliament, and Alec was kin to Langston._

_That was the difference in Alphonse’s scent, Derek realized. He no longer smelled like Langston, and judging by another gash on his neck, just under the collar of his shirt, the Alpha’s mark had been erased. He’d been exiled from the pack._

Derek sighed at the harshness of the werewolf law. Bu then he remembered something else.

“What about the others?”

Grayson’s eyes glittered. “What others?”

“Traitors.” Derek rubbed his eyes. “The ones who let Król know that Stiles was alive. Harris, and his cousin Charles Conrad. Laura called you about that, right?”

“She did.”

“And?” Derek demanded.

Grayson smiled, showing his teeth. "Dead," he said. "By my hand."

“Okay.” Derek let out a breath. “Okay.” 

He stepped to the edge of the porch, folded his arms, and stared out at the woods, remembering the first time he’d set foot in the grove, only a few short months ago. “So, what next?” 

“What do you mean?” Grayson asked.

Derek gestured toward the trees, struggling to find the words. “So much has happened since I arrived in Beacon Hills,” he said finally. “So much change. So much chaos and death. It’s hard to believe that it’s all over, and my pack is finally safe. It’s like I keep…”

“Waiting for the other paw to drop?” Grayson suggested.

Derek felt his shoulders relax a little “Exactly.”

“Funny you should mention that…” 

As Grayson spoke, the sound of a car reached Derek’s ears. Seconds later, he saw a long sleek black limousine turn up the driveway and glide to a stop, its engine purring. 

The driver’s door opened. Derek’s heart leapt for a second as he thought it might be Thomas behind the wheel. Instead, one of Grayson’s guards got out and opened the passenger door.

To Derek’s surprise, Stan climbed out of the limo, followed by another man who bore a strong resemblance to him, although he stood a full head taller. He wore thick, dark-rimmed glasses and had a kindly, bearded face with a mild expression. His clothing was rumpled, as if he’d been on a long journey, and as he straightened to his full height Derek could see he wore a white fabric collar at the neck of his dark suit.

Derek felt Grayson’s hand fall heavily on his shoulder. 

“Son,” he said, “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a long chapter with lots of exposition, but I hope it ties up some of the loose ends. More soon!


	65. Chapter 65

_Hello, Readers! This chapter ended up being twice as long as I planned. I really hope you enjoy it!_

***

When last we left our heroes…

_Derek saw a long sleek black limousine turn up the driveway and glide to a stop, its engine purring. One of Grayson’s guards got out and opened the passenger door._

_To Derek’s surprise, Stan climbed out of the limo, followed by another man who bore a strong resemblance to him, although he stood a full head taller. He wore thick, dark-rimmed glasses and had a kindly, bearded face with a mild expression. His clothing was rumpled, as if he’d been on a long journey, and as he straightened to his full height Derek could see he wore a white fabric collar at the neck of his dark suit._

_Derek felt Grayson’s hand fall heavily on his shoulder._

_“Son,” he said, “There’s something we need to discuss.”_

And now…Cinderstiles, Chapter 65!

***  
***

“No,” Derek said, pacing the floor. “ _No._ ”

“Derek,” Grayson replied gently. “It’s all arranged.”

Derek stopped and rubbed his brow tiredly. A vein throbbed painfully in his temple, and he felt a dull ache behind his eyes. Panic gnawed at him. “I don’t understand.”

He looked helplessly at his father, then at others who had assembled. The parley was being held in the Derek’s office instead of the formal dining room, although the traditional tea had been served. (The dining room was off-limits until Boyd replaced the window that shattered when Melissa hurled the Faberge clock through it. Surprisingly, the clock survived with minimal damage and still kept perfect time.)

Grayson sat at Derek’s desk, while Deaton lurked by the bookcases, his manner unusually agitated. Laura sat on the couch next to Melissa, who had come immediately when Derek called. Stan and his elder brother Andrzej sat in chairs facing the room.

Derek had scowled at Andrzej when he’d been introduced. “I thought you told your mother not to send him,” he said to Stan.

Stan shrugged, smiling ruefully. “What can I say? My mother does what she wants. By the time I talked to her, Andrzej was already on the plane to Los Angeles.”

So far, Andrzej had yet to say a word. Stan had explained that he knew only rudimentary English. Instead, he sipped his tea and gazed in mild curiosity at his surroundings, blinking sleepily in the late morning sun like a contented cat. His eyes were the same amber color as Stiles’, which Derek found deeply unnerving. Likewise, his fingers were long and clever, like Stiles’, but without his constant agitation. Instead, they gently cradled the delicate porcelain teacup without spilling a drop. 

“Stiles’ grandmother contacted me through Dr. Deaton,” Grayson said, interrupting Derek’s thoughts. “She formally asked permission that Stiles be allowed to train in magic at the family estate in Poland. She insisted it is a matter of life and death.” Grayson held up his hand before Derek could object. “The Order of Mages has arranged emergency medical transportation to Poland as a gesture of good will.”

“More of an apology,” Laura muttered bitterly. “For screwing things up.” 

“Laura,” Grayson said sternly, and she subsided, glowering over her teacup.

Grayson turned back to Derek. “Stiles’ uncles will watch over him on the journey back to Poland, where his grandmother and the other healers of her House will teach him how to control his magic until he’s no longer a danger to himself or others.”

Derek bristled. “Stiles would never hurt anyone.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow, and Derek blushed, remembering the cave…

_Derek’s eyesight dimmed. The cave flickered in his vision, and he heard a distant howling—not with his ears, but with his deeper instincts. A shudder ran through him._

_**Pack** , he thought, and then: **Danger**._

_“That’s right,” Peter murmured softly. “My Rogues are tearing your Betas to pieces even as we speak. Easy,” he ordered as Stiles reacted, his clawed hand closing tighter around Stiles’ throat. Stiles’ eyes burned with fury, and Derek felt the hair on the back of his neck start to rise with the familiar sensation of magic._

_“No!” Derek remembered Stan’s warning. “Stand down, Stiles,” he ordered. “I’ll handle this. Stand down,” he said again when Stiles glared at him._

_Stiles scowled, but lowered his eyes in obedience. The tingling sensation in the air faded._

Remembering, Derek felt his heart swell with pride as his wolf preened. An old proverb came to mind: _Strong Alpha, Strong Mate, Strong Pack._

Derek had to remind his wolf that, while Stiles would destroy anyone who threatened the pack, he wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his own life in the process. Case in point: After rescuing Derek from the cave, Stiles had healed him, even after he learned that doing magic could kill him.

Derek rubbed his brow again, then glared at Stan. “When we talked the other day, you said Stiles would have to stay a year.”

“Maybe a year.” Stan glanced at Andrzej. “Maybe more.”

“Not good enough,” Derek snapped. “And what aren’t you telling me?”

Stan blinked. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Derek retorted. “I know you.”

“Shit,” Stan muttered under his breath. His fingers twitched, and he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, but at Melissa’s frown, refrained from lighting it. 

“There might be another issue,” he admitted finally.

Derek folded his arms. “I’m listening.”

Stan glanced at Andrzej again, then spoke to him in Polish. Andrzej tilted his head a moment, clearly considering his reply, then nodded. Stan turned back to Derek.

“The situation with House Król is…deteriorating.”

Derek felt a surge of alarm. “Do you think they might try to harm Stiles?”

“Doubtful.” Stan shrugged. “Any further aggression on their part would be unwise. But there _might_ be a hearing before the Witches’ Council, in which case, Stiles _might_ be called upon to testify on my behalf.”

“I’m the one who killed Król,” Derek insisted. “If there are any consequences, I should be the one to bear them.” He turned to his father. “Dad, let me go with them.”

“What?” Grayson’s heavy eyebrows practically shot off his face in shock. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Derek demanded

Deaton spoke for the first time. “An Alpha Werewolf on Witch territory would be a clear violation of the Truce.”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Derek could hear the edge of hysteria in his voice, but he didn’t care. “People have been violating the Truce left, right, and center around here! Król attacked _my_ mate on _my_ land.” Derek jabbed his thumb at his chest, then pointed at Deaton. “Meanwhile, _your_ sister, who swore a blood oath to remain neutral, instead used dark magic to revive Peter and then plotted with him to murder the High Alpha.”

“Which is exactly why we need to re-establish order,” Grayson interjected before Deaton could answer. 

“Yeah?” Derek was so angry he didn’t care that he was challenging his Alpha. “Well, I don’t trust him," Derek jabbed his finger at Deaton again. “And neither should you.”

“Kid’s got a point,” Stan drawled, twirling the unlit cigarette between his fingers. “This entire situation could have been avoided if Dr. Deaton had informed my family of my sister’s death.”

Deaton’s usually placid face tightened in anger. “I’ve told you why that decision was made. Given their actions toward Anna, I had no reason to trust your House with Stiles’ life. I wasn’t about to let an innocent child be sacrificed to your father’s pride.”

“Enough.” Grayson’s voice deepened. Deaton and Stan subsided, still glaring daggers at each other.

Grayson turned to Derek. “Derek, this agreement was made following the strictest protocol. The Order of Mages facilitated communication between our Clan and House Serafin, as is their proper function. All sides agree that too many laws have been broken, and that order must be re-established immediately. Son,” he added softly as Derek started to argue. “My decision has been made.”

Frustrated, Derek turned his anger on Stan again. “How do I know you won’t force Stiles to stay against his will?”

“We discussed with earlier,” Stan replied tersely. “No one can force a Serafin to do anything against their will, least of all Anna’s son.”

Andrzej gave a snort of laughter. Derek scowled at him, then at Stan.

“You said he didn’t understand English. Wait, don’t tell me. You lied about that, too.”

Stan showed his teeth. “Force of habit.”

Derek flung his hands in the air in frustration and turned to pace again.

“Young Alpha.” 

Derek turned back, startled. Andrzej’s voice was almost an octave deeper than Stan’s, and resonant with power. 

“This is a request to your father, not a demand,” Andrzej continued. He spoke flawless English with the barest trace of an accent. “My nephew needs helps that only our family can provide.” 

Andrzej set aside his teacup, then placed his hand on his heart, his expression resolute but kind. “Trust me. We do not wish to take young Stanisław from his loved ones, only to provide for his care and healing, and to make amends for the sins of the past.” 

He leaned forward. “But the situation is urgent. My brother tells me the boy’s health is failing fast.”

“You’ve sensed it yourself, Derek,” Stan said quietly. “How exhausted Stiles is.” 

Derek folded his arms again. “I have,” he admitted.

Stan rose and took a step towards him. “I told you before I recognize how Stiles feels about you,” he said. “I promised I wouldn’t do to him what my father did to Anna, and I won’t. I’m not trying to separate the two of you, or undermine his place in your pack. I’m just trying to save his life.”

“It’s true, Derek,” Laura murmured. “House Serafin recognizes that Stiles is a full member of the Hale Clan, as well as your mate. That’s why they went through channels.”

Derek felt the fight drain out of him. His throat ached, and he fought to hold back tears.

“Derek.” It was the first time Melissa had spoken since Derek had explained the situation. When he looked at her, she held out her hand. He took it, and she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “When you love someone,” she said, her voice soft but firm,” sometimes you have to do what’s best for them, not what they want.” 

Derek remembered another moment in the cave…

_“Do I get a say in all this?” Stiles asked, his tone sarcastic._

_“No,” Derek said._

_“When were you gonna tell me, Derek?”_

_“To be honest,” Derek replied, “I was going to wait until you arrived in Poland, and then tell you that you weren’t coming back.”_

_Stiles stared at him, mouth open in shock. Then he scowled again, his features closing up like a fist. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” he snarled. “You complain about your family, but you keep just as many secrets as they do.”_

Derek flinched at the memory.

“He’s gonna be so _pissed_ ,” he complained.

Melissa smiled, squeezing his hand again. “What else is new?”

***

Derek wasn’t surprised when Stiles came home early from school. No doubt he’d made up some bullshit excuse to get out of class. And since Grayson had commandeered Derek’s phone that morning and refused to let Stiles speak to him, Derek’ figured he’d be gunning for both of them.

Sure enough, Stiles drove up the driveway at full speed, straining the Jeep’s engine, and fish-tailed to a stop with a spray of gravel. He practically fell out of the Jeep and ran toward Derek, who was waiting on the front steps.

“Are you okay?” Stiles demanded, his hands coming up to cup Derek’s face. 

“I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not.” Stiles’ eyes narrowed as he peered into Derek’s face. “You’re not, I can tell. You look pale. Is it the poison? Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine.” Derek said again, covering Stiles’ hands with his own. “I’m completely healed.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles spat. “You almost passed out earlier. I could _feel_ it,” he seethed. “I can’t believe your dad wouldn’t let me talk to you. I was _worried_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“Stiles—”

“Is your family trying to break us up again?” Stiles spat. “They are, aren’t they? Well, they can kiss my—” 

“Stiles!” Derek interrupted. “I’m okay.” He took Stiles’ hands and held them tightly. “We just need to talk.” 

“Talk?” Stiles’ eyes widened in alarm. “I know that that means.” Snatching his hands back, he pointed an accusing finger at Derek. “You’re trying to break up with me.”

“Stiles.” Derek rolled his eyes. “That last thing I want to do is break up with you.”

But Stiles was already pacing the lawn. “After all we’ve been through, you think you can just toss me aside like yesterday’s news? Because that is some straight-up bullshit!” 

Stiles hesitated suddenly, looking stricken “It’s the talking thing, isn’t it? God!” 

He started pacing again. “Everybody always says, ‘Stiles, shut up,’ but they don’t get it! I can’t just turn it off.” He wrung his hands. “Jesus, don’t you think I’ve tried? It’s not my fault my brain is fucked six ways to Sunday. Sure, you were fine with me as along as I never talked, but now that my mouth is back online, you're gonna dump me. But you know what?”

Stiles rounded on Derek. “ADHD isn’t neurotypical, fine, whatever, and it can be challenging as fuck, but it’s sure as hell not a freaking _disorder_ , whatever the stupid textbooks say. And you know what ELSE?” Stiles pointed his finger at Derek again. “None of that matters, because we are straight-up engaged, and I have the collar to prove it!” His hand went to his neck, which was bare. “Or I did. Fuck!”

Derek winced. The collar presumably still lay on the floor of the cave among the ashes of Kate’s remains. No one had shown any desire to retrieve it.

Stiles kept going. “Okay, so I don’t have it anymore, but it’s still legally binding. I have witnesses!” he concluded triumphantly. “Totally legally binding witnesses! So if you think you can just dump me, Mister High-and-Mighty Alpha, you’ve got another think coming!” 

Derek did the thing he usually did to shut Stiles up: He grabbed him by the hips, hauled him in, and kissed him.

Stiles gave a muffled squawk beneath Derek’s lips, but when Derek didn’t stop, slowly relaxed into the kiss. He opened his mouth, permitting Derek’s entry, and his hands crept up to clutch at his shoulders.

When they finally came up for air, Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’. “Still think I want to break up with you?”

“I guess not,” Stiles admitted. “But why are you so upset? I can feel it,” he added, cupping Derek’s face in his hands again

Derek resisted the urge to lean into Stiles’ touch. Instead, he stood and stepped out of reach. “Remember back in the cave?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles frowned as he lowered his hands. “What about it?” 

Derek heard the screen door slam behind him, and winced.

“I told you I’d handle this!” he snarled over his shoulder.

“We need to leave soon,” Stan said. “Or we’ll miss our flight.”

Derek winced again as Stiles’ eyes widened. 

For a moment, Stiles stared at his uncle. His expression gradually went from confusion to understanding.

Then he looked at Derek, the air around him crackling. Derek felt a familiar tingling sensation as the hair rose on the back of his neck. 

As Stiles took a step back, Derek held out his hands. “Let me explain.”

To Derek’s surprise, Stiles’ posture became relaxed and casual. “Yeah, sure,” he said easily. “Sure, you’re doing shit behind my back, conspiring with that asshole…” 

He pointed a trembling finger at Stan. “But you’ll explain, right?” Stiles’ voice dripped sarcasm. He folded his arms and raised his chin. “Fine, explain,” he sneered. “I’m listening.”

Derek took a deep breath. “Okay,” he started. Then: “Son of a bitch!” he added as Stiles turned and ran.

“Stay back!” Derek ordered Stan, then took off after Stiles, who was surprisingly fast on his feet. He headed for the Jeep, and Derek felt a spurt of alarm as he realized the keys were still in the ignition. He put on a burst of speed. Just as Stiles dove into the front seat, Derek grabbed his ankle and hauled him back.

As he slid towards Derek, Stiles grabbed his backpack from the car seat and flung it at his head. Derek ducked automatically. At the same time, Stiles kicked him in the face. 

Derek saw stars and heard his nose crunch. As he staggered back, Stiles turned the keys and the engine roared to life.

Part of Derek was pleased with Stiles’ fighting ability, but the other part was _pissed_. With his own roar, he managed to wrest the car keys from the ignition, then from Stiles’ fingers. With all his strength, he hurled them toward the woods. They soared through the air, glinting in the sunlight, then disappeared among the trees. 

“You son of a bitch!” Stiles bellowed at him.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ bicep and hauled him from the cab. When Stiles fought back, Derek wrapped his arms around him and pinning his flailing limbs. 

“Settle down!” he ordered.

Stiles responded by snapping his head backward. Derek gave another roar, this time of pain, as Stiles’ skull collided with his already-broken nose. His grip loosened. Stiles wriggled away and sprinted for the treeline.

Derek fell to one knee and paused for a second to dab his nose with the sleeve of his Henley. It came away bloody.

Behind him, Stan sighed audibly. “For Christ’s sake,” he said. “Just let me put the whammy on him already. He’ll sleep for twenty-four hours and won’t even know what hit him.”

“No,” Derek growled, tasting blood. “I’ll handle this.”

Shifting, he ran.

***

Derek found Stiles almost immediately, in a clearing not far from the house. He was thrashing about, frantically beating aside branches and undergrowth and desperately peering at the ground as he searched for his car keys.

As Derek shifted back, Stiles sensed his presence and turned. His expression was both furious and distraught, his face streaked with tears.

“I can’t believe you did that, you ASSHOLE!” he yelled. “I HATE you!”

Derek held out his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“That was _my mom’s car_!” Stiles pounded his chest for emphasis. “And you just—“ 

He stopped abruptly as his breath hitched, then turned his back. His shoulders curved inward as he curled into himself.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said again. 

Stiles wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, pulling into himself even more. When he spoke, his voice was thick with tears. “It was my mom’s car. My dad always wanted to buy her a new one, even though they couldn’t really afford it. He said it wasn’t safe, but she didn’t care. She _loved_ it. She said driving it made her feel free. It’s only thing I have left of them, and you threw it away, just like—“ He broke off again, his shoulders shaking.

“Stiles.” Derek walked up behind him and slowly laid his hand on his shoulder, prepared to dart backward if Stiles took a swing at him. 

Instead, Stiles leaned into his touch. Derek carefully wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Again, instead of resisting, Stiles leaned back into Derek’s embrace, crying helplessly.

“Shhh,” Derek soothed. He tucked his nose between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, nuzzling his mark. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We’ll find the keys, I swear.”

Too overcome to speak, Stiles clutched at Derek’s forearms. 

“I’m not throwing you away,” Derek murmured into his neck.

Stiles shook his head. 

“I’m not,” Derek insisted. “I’m trying to save your life.”

Stiles took a deep, steadying breath, but was still barely able to choke out the words. “I don’t want to go.” 

“Oh, baby.” Derek tightened his grip, pulling Stiles even closer, then gently rocked him back and forth. “I know. I don’t want you to go either. But look…look at this…” He flexed his hands where they held Stiles’ forearms. Black veins throbbed on his skin.

Stiles shook his head again. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it does,” Derek said sternly. “It means you’re sick and you need to get better.” He turned Stiles to face him. “And then you need to learn to use your magic properly. If you don’t, you’ll die.”

Despite his tears, Stiles jutted his chin in defiance. “Says who?”

“Says your uncle,” Derek retorted. “And your other uncle, who just arrived from Poland. And your grandmother. And Deaton, and my father.”

Stiles sniffed in derision. “How do you know they’re not just trying to break us up?”

“They’re not. My father has accepted our relationship, and your uncle swore to me your family wouldn’t interfere either.”

Stiles scowled and folded his arms. “How do you know he’s not lying?”

“I’m a werewolf, Stiles,” Derek said gently. “I can tell.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Derek stepped closer, looking Stiles deep in his eyes, willing him to meet his gaze. “I am not throwing you away,” he said carefully. “I’m not breaking up with you, and I won’t let anyone else break us up. I’d die before I let that happen, and you know it.” He raised his voice louder. “But I’m not going to lose you, either, just because you’re a stubborn idiot. You know, in your heart, that what I’m saying is true. You know you have to go.”

Stiles glowered at the surrounding trees. He gnawed on his lip for a moment, then scrubbed his sleeve across his cheeks, wiping his tears. “For how long?”

Derek felt his shoulders relax. “I don’t know. A year, maybe longer.”

“What about school?” 

“They think you’re doing an exchange student program. It’s all taken care of,” Derek added when Stiles looked at him in surprise. “Dr. Deaton and his Order negotiated an agreement between your mother’s House and our Clan, and made all the arrangements. They’re trying to set things right,” he added, “after their screw-up with Peter.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Screw-up,” he muttered under his breath. “More like a fucking disaster.” He glanced at Derek, then away. “I’m sorry about your nose,” he muttered.

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles peered closer. “It looks really bad.” Using the tail of his flannel shirt, he dabbed at the remaining blood from Derek’s face.

“I’m fine,” Derek said. “Already healed.” Taking advantage of Stiles’ proximity, he took his hands in his own. “Love,” he said softly, “you know I wouldn’t do this unless I had to.”

Stiles lowered his eyes. “I know.”

Derek sighed, resisting the urge to stroke Stiles’ hair. “Don’t you want to learn how to use your magic?” he asked, trying a different tack. “Aren’t you curious about your mother’s people?”

Stiles looked up, scowling again. “Fuck them,” he retorted. “They treated her like shit.”

“No one is denying that,” Derek said reasonably. “But they regret their actions and want to make amends. Your uncle said so.”

Stiles huffed impatiently, rolling his eyes again. “Whatever.” He looked at Derek, his face anxious. “What about the Pack?” he asked. “I have to say goodbye. I need to see Scott and—“

“There’s no time,” Derek interrupted. “The arrangements have been made,” he added when Stiles’ eyes widened. “The Hale jet will take you to Los Angeles, where you’ll board a medical transport to Poland.”

Stiles stared at him. “So this is goodbye? For, like…” He voice cracked. “For, we don’t even know how long?”

“Yeah,” Derek said softly. 

With a sudden whimper, Stiles lurched toward him. Derek enfolded him in his arms, and they clutched each other tightly. For a long moment, Derek breathed in deeply, trying to memorize Stiles’ scent. Inside, his wolf was howling in grief. He gave in and stroked Stiles’ hair.

Stiles gave another whimper, this one hungry. Then then his lips were on Derek’s. 

Their kisses started out desperate, but quickly shifted to something darker. Derek felt his brain fog as his wolf took over.

“Wait,” he managed to gasp out while nibbling on Stiles’ neck. “We can’t…we shouldn’t…we don’t have time…oh, _God_ ”

Giving in, he lifted Stiles in his arms and slammed his back against the nearest tree trunk. Stiles wound his legs around Derek’s waist, raised his hips, and ground his length against Derek’s. 

“God!” Derek gasped again at the sensation, the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. “ _Stiles_.” 

Stiles murmured something in return as his hands impatiently tugged at Derek’s shirt. Derek likewise grasped the neck of Stiles’ T-shirt, prepared to shred it, then dropped Stiles like the proverbial hot potato and staggered backward. 

“Wait!”

“Why?” Stiles demanded. His pupils were dilated, darkening his eyes almost to black, and his breathing uneven. 

“You know why!” Derek retreated further, trying to get his body under control. “I promised Melissa I wouldn’t touch you until you’re of age.”

“That is such bullshit!” Stiles waved his arms in the air in frustration. “Scott and Allison get to sleep together. Everyone else in the whole damn house gets to have sex but us! It’s not fair!”

“We’ve been over this,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “Scott and Allison are the same age. So are Boyd and Erica and the others. I’m older than you. It makes a difference, legally and morally.”

“Bullshit!” Stiles yelled again. He visibly got himself under control, then held out his hands. “Come on, Derek. Take me now.”

“Now?” Derek gaped at him. “Here?”

“Yes, _now_ ,” Stiles said impatiently.” I’m tired of waiting, and I know you are, too. And who knows how long I’ll be gone? Don’t we deserve to be together before I leave?” His tone became wheedling. “And as for here, what better place?” 

Stiles moved closer and placed his hand on Derek’s chest, smiling when he felt the rapid heartbeat beneath his palm. 

“This is your territory, Derek,” he murmured. “ _Our_ territory. We fought for it, you and me and the whole Pack. We spilled our blood to claim it. Now you get to claim me.” 

This time Derek was the one to whimper. Stiles was right, he thought. The surrounding forest was so beautiful, so alive, and Stiles’ scent was so enticing. It was their place, only a few steps away from where they had first met, not far from the place where Derek first realized this beautiful young Omega was his, and his alone. 

“Your first time should be special,” Derek said feebly. He was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly.

“How could it not be?” Stiles asked. “It’s _us_.” He took Derek’s hand and placed it over his own heart. Derek felt the connection flowing between them like an electric current. For a second, he closed his eyes to better drink in the sensation.

A sudden stab of pain startled him, and he opened his eyes to see black veins on his skin again. He snatched his hand away. “No. We have to wait.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “I know what this is really about. You think you’re like Peter. But you’re not,” he insisted, moving closer as Derek recoiled. “If anyone would know, it would be me, right? But you’re not.” He raised his hand and placed it tenderly along Derek’s face. “I swear, love. You’re not like him at all.”

Shivering, Derek closed his eyes. For a moment, he let himself drink it all in—the feel of Stiles’ skin against his, their mingled scents, the forest surrounding them, the sun overhead and the earth underfoot.

Then he took a deep breath, steeling himself to speak, and opened his eyes.

“Maybe I’m not like Peter,” he said. “But I’m still the Alpha.” 

He raised his chin. “That means when I give my word, I keep it, or forever forswear my honor. It means I gave my word to Melissa and I won’t break it. Not even for you.”

Stiles gave a sharp intake of breath, then took a full step backward in shock. He stared at Derek, and his lips grew white.

Derek’s heart pounded in response. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to take back the words, even as they had their intended effect.

After a long moment, Stiles finally spoke, his voice thin and shaking. “Fuck. You.”

He brushed past Derek, face set and pale, and marched back toward Hale House without a backward glance. 

***

At the house, everyone had gathered by the front steps. Derek could sense their anxiety, followed by palpable relief as Stiles emerged from the trees with Derek trailing behind. 

Grayson sought out Derek’s gaze and raised his eyebrows in a question. Derek nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Grayson looked relieved, then nodded to the driver, who started the limousine. 

As Stiles approached, the air around him crackled and sparked. Deaton, who stood on the porch, clutched the railing in both hands, although his expression remained passive. Likewise, Derek saw Andrzej’s eyes widen, his hand close convulsively on Stan’s shoulder. Derek assumed he was as shocked as Stan had been by Stiles’ resemblance to their sister. 

Stiles pointedly ignored them all. As the others held back, Grayson approached him, hand raised. Derek held his breath, expecting Stiles to bolt, or worse. 

Instead he stood, trembling, as Grayson placed his large hand on his neck. (Derek clenched his fists as his wolf seethed in jealousy.) The veins on Grayson’s hand grew black and Stiles swayed, his face growing ashen in relief as the Alpha’s touch automatically soothed his pain.

Grayson looked at Derek again, his expression alarmed, as if he hadn’t yet realized the extent of Stiles’ illness. 

Derek shrugged helplessly, and Grayson’s face grew grim and determined. 

“I speak as High Alpha of the Hale Clan,” he said to Stiles, quickly but formally. “Stanisław Andrzej Stilinski, you have my permission to go, and my permission to return. As you go in pain, may you return in health, to once again run with your Pack beneath the moon. Always remember you bear the honor of our Clan in your words and deeds. Therefore, speak wisely and act bravely, for the good of all. Above all else, carry yourself with pride, for you are a Hale.”

He kissed Stiles on the forehead, then stepped back. Stiles turned away without a word—and without the traditional bow—but to Derek’s relief, Grayson didn’t press the issue. 

Derek stepped forward next, but Stiles, sensing his intent, deliberately turned his back. 

Derek felt a pain in his chest like he’d been stabbed in the heart, but forced himself to stand and watch as Stiles walked to the car. 

As he did, the driver deposited an overnight bag into the trunk. Melissa had packed it earlier with Stiles’ meager possessions. She also held his backpack, twisting the strap anxiously in her hands.

As the limo driver closed the trunk, Stiles reached for the passenger door.

“Stiles, wait,” Melissa said. He paused, not meeting her eyes, and she held out the backpack. 

Stiles grabbed it from her, roughly brushed off her attempt at a hug, then climbed in the back of the limo and slammed the door behind him.

There was a long silence in the clearing. 

Then Stan met Derek’s eyes, his expression rueful. “I’ll let you know once we’ve arrived,” he said. “I swear he’ll be safe.”

Derek swallowed. “Thank you.”

Stan and Andrzej both turned to Grayson and inclined their heads toward him in a gesture of respect.

“Alpha Hale,” Andrzej said.

Grayson gave a nod in reply. “Safe travels,” he said. “Please convey my regards to your mother.”

“We will, gladly.” Andrzej climbed in the facing seat of the limo. 

Stan jerked his chin to Laura. “Alpha,” he said. “It’s been real.”

Laura smothered a smile. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Stan grinned, then winked at Melissa. “See you around, Pretty Mama.”

Melissa glared at him through her tears. Smirking, Stan got into limo. The driver closed the double doors, then bowed to Grayson and climbed in the front seat. 

As the limousine turned and headed down the driveway, Derek He wanted to run and hide—to go to ground like a wounded animal. Instead, he again forced himself to stand and watch. The car’s glass windows were smoked, so he couldn’t see Stiles, but he could sense his mingled anguish and rage and smell the salt of his tears. Derek felt his own throat constrict and ache, but wouldn’t let himself cry.

Then the long black car turned the corner of the drive and disappeared into the trees.

***

A day or two later, Derek sat on the front porch steps, Margaret-Maude’s brandy decanter empty beside him. A few bees hovered hopefully around the sticky crystal. One intrepid soldier had made it inside and, drunk with sugar, buzzed idly against the delicately cut glass.

Derek watched with equal idleness. Part of him wanted to rescue the bee before it inevitably died; another part of him felt it would be too much work.

Likewise, part of Derek observed that he desperately needed a shower—he’d slept in the woods, wolfed-out, the last two nights. But again, it felt like too much effort.

Besides, Derek reminded himself, the house was, at the moment, unbearably quiet. His father and Laura had flown back to Los Angeles on some unnamed but urgent business, and his pack had, wisely, left him alone.

Derek drained the dregs in his glass, then stared down at his bare, dirty feet. He was dimly that the weather was growing cooler, and his blue jeans and T-shirt weren’t warm enough. He thought with longing of his warm bed upstairs, then reminded himself it was cold and empty. 

Stiles was gone.

Derek heard a sudden cracking sound, then stared down in surprise at the shattered glass in his hand. Blood welled and dripped to the ground.

Derek remembered…

_The beer bottle shattered in Derek’s grip. Derek opened his hand and stared at the shards of glass embedded in his palm. Dark red blood welled up._

_When Stiles saw the shards in Derek’s hand, he made a small sound of distress. He cradled Derek’s wrist in one hand, using a dishtowel to absorb the blood. With his other hand, he plucked the shards of glass out of Derek’s skin, working quickly but carefully._

_It hurt, but the pain barely registered with Derek. He stared numbly at his hand, watching each cut close, the skin knitting together, as the glass was removed. Stiles bent over his work, his head close to Derek’s. This close, his scent, tinged with concern, was overwhelming. Derek felt his pulse quicken and his hearing buzz._

_He stood abruptly. “That’s enough.”_

_Startled again, Stiles stared at him, then gestured to Derek’s hand._

_“It’s fine,” Derek said. “Already healed.” He shoved past Stiles, who stumbled out of his way. Typically, his legs tangled with his chair, still on the floor, and he started to fall backward._

_Derek’s hand shot out and caught Stiles’ wrist, pulling him forward. He used a little too much force, and Stiles’ momentum propelled him right into Derek’s chest._

_For a moment, they stared at each other. Thunder rumbled outdoors, and the rain came down harder, pelting the roof and windows of the old house._

_Stiles’ eyes were huge and dark, his cupid’s-bow lips parted in surprise. Derek could feel his heart thudding in his chest, keeping time with his own. He caught a glimpse of his mark on Stiles’ shoulder and felt the urge to—_

Derek rose abruptly, seized the crystal decanter, and hurled it across the clearing, where it shattered against a tree with a satisfying crunch and a burst of glittering shards.

Derek’s head swam with exhaustion and alcohol. He lurched sideways, fetching up against the porch post with a thud.

He heard a low rumbling noise and shook his head, trying to dispel it.

The rumbled persisted, accompanied by the familiar crunch of tires on gravel. 

Derek blinked in confusion as a car threaded its way up the driveway.

It was the black limo again.

Derek felt his heart surge in hope as the vehicle glided to a stop. The uniformed driver got out and opened the passenger door. Derek eagerly sniffed the air, but the scent, although familiar, didn’t belong to Stiles.

As Derek watched, the driver reached down. A figure took his hand and emerged from the back seat, clutching a small hold-all. As she stood, she breathed in the forest air with evident pleasure, and a smile, tentative but joyful, played about her lips.

Then she turned and looked at Derek.

Derek’s sight blurred, but not from the alcohol. He stumbled forward a few steps, then felt the sudden, sharp bite of the gravel through denim as he fell heavily to his knees. 

With a cry of concern, the figured hurried closer.

Derek reached out blindly, wrapped his arms around her slender waist, and hauled her to him, pressing his face against her soft, warm belly. As he breathed in her scent, as familiar as his own, he finally acknowledged the truth that on some deep, unspoken level, he’d known all along.

“Mom,” Derek choked out. And then: “ _Mama_.”

“Shhh,” Margery soothed, gently carding her fingers through his matted hair. “Hush, Little Wolf. Don’t cry. I’m here now. Mama’s here.”

_End, Part Two_

****  
****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, kiddos - that Happily Ever After is only a few short chapters away!


	66. Chapter 66

_Cinderstiles -- Chapter 66_

It was hard. So hard, Derek wondered if he’d survive. If not for the presence of Margery and his pack, he might very well have gone feral, driven mad by what felt like a gaping wound in both body and psyche. 

Even when they’d been physically apart before, Derek had always had a general sense of Stiles’ location, heartbeat, and energy level—a steady, persistent thrumming just on the edge of his awareness. It was the same with the rest of his pack, but with Stiles it had always been stronger, especially after Derek had (finally) recognized Stiles as his mate. (Looking back, he wondered why it had taken him so long.)

Now, his absence was jarring.

On a psychic level, their connection remained, but seemed lopsided. Stiles’ emotions came in overwhelming waves—confusion, sorrow, rage, terror—followed by long periods of stillness.

Physically, Derek was exhausted. He slept twenty hours a day, and spent the remaining four in confused delirium. Margery automatically assumed the role of caregiver, spelled by Melissa. Even as Derek craved Margery’s soothing touch, he wanted to tell her to stop. She was his mother now, not his servant. But it seemed like one or more of the pack was always hovering anxiously, and Derek hadn’t told them yet. Telling the pack the truth about Margery meant telling them the truth about what Peter had done to her—and that wasn’t Derek’s secret to tell. If Margery so chose, he would share his real parentage with his pack. If not, he would take that particular secret to his grave.

Still, he fretted, his thoughts going round in endless circles. Nor did sleep bring relief. His dreams were disturbed by random, nightmarish images: Rain-slicked cobblestone streets, seen through the fogged-over window of a car. A crowded train station at night, lit only by ominously flickering fluorescent lights. What appeared to be a hospital room, painted a particularly bilious shade of green. 

Derek finally realized that he was seeing through Stiles’ eyes. Further, his own body was reacting to what was happening to Stiles’, as illness further sapped his strength and periods of unconsciousness grew more frequent. 

A few weeks after Stiles left, Derek felt himself wondering, idly, whether if Stiles died, he would, too. When he found the thought didn’t particularly bother him, he hauled himself out of bed, shook like a dog coming out water, dressed, and went downstairs.

The pack looked up expectantly from where they bent over their homework, seated around the big table in the living room. They were uncharacteristically quiet, their eyes were wide and anxious, and Derek felt a pang of guilt at neglecting him. 

He looked outside and saw the sun was shining.

“Anybody up for a run?” he asked.

Grins broke out around the table and there was a general stampede for the door. 

Derek ended up walking while the others ran. It felt good to be in the woods again, even as his legs shook with weakness. When the pack came home, a delicious smell was wafting through the house. Derek followed his nose to the kitchen, where Margery was pulling a pan of cookies from the oven.

“Gingerwolves!” Derek said, delighted. He wrapped his arms around Margery and kissed the back of her neck. “My favorite.”

“Well, of course,” Margery said placidly, although Derek could tell she was pleased. “It’s Christmas. Stop that,” she added, slapping his hand with an oven mitt as he reached for the cookies on the rack. “They’re still hot.”

“I don’t care,” Derek said, and crammed one into his mouth. Sure enough, it was too hot, but tasted marvelous. “Waith a minute,” he mumbled through a mouthful of gingerbread. “Ith Chrithmah?”

“In a day or two. Go wash your hands,” Margery told the pack as they crowded into the kitchen. “Then you can have some.”

Derek swallowed hastily, then showed his teeth. “Back off,” he ordered. “They’re for me.”

“They’re for everyone,” Margery said sternly as the pack scurried to do her bidding. (Somehow, they always did.) “Besides, we can always make more.”

The teens spent the holidays with their families, as expected, but somehow they all ended up at Hale House the afternoon after Christmas Day. A haphazardly decorated tree leaned in one corner of the room, surrounded by torn wrapping paper from their hastily arranged gift exchange. Derek had drawn Isaac’s name and bought him a vintage Nikon camera that left him speechless with reverence for a full five minutes.

“I didn’t think they even made film for these anymore,” he finally said.

“They didn’t,” Derek admitting. “But Hale Corporation just acquired a subsidiary that holds the patent. They’re going to be manufacturing a limited quantity and marketing it to millennials. Apparently, you guys are into vintage—oof!” He broke off as Isaac tackle-hugged him.

“Thank you,” Isaac whispered into Derek’s chest, trembling.

Derek hugged him back, curling a soothing hand around Isaac’s neck. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

Allison drew Derek’s name and gave him several pairs of sensible socks. “You’re hard to buy for,” she complained when he raised his eyebrows at her. At the bottom of the box was a postcard that showed a typical California beach scene with palm trees and surfers.

Derek remembered what he’d told Allison that terrible day his family had taken him away from the pack…

_“Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone,” Derek said plaintively, and Allison laughed._

_“I make no promises.”_

_Derek smiled. “You don’t bear my mark,” he said, “but I consider you part of my pack, and that means you’re always in my heart.” He rested his hand on her cheek. “You’re my warrior queen.”_

_Allison stared, her red lips forming a perfect little ‘O.’ Then she blushed, clearly flustered. “I don’t know what to say.”_

_“Figure it out,” Derek said lightly. “Send me a postcard.”_

_Allison laughed again. “Done.”_

Derek turned the postcard over. On the back was written in clear bold handwriting: _You’re my Alpha._

He met Allison’s eyes across the room over the general tumult of present-giving-and-unwrapping, and she smiled at him. 

Later, Scott clutched her hand tightly as Derek bent over her wrist. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Allison rolled her eyes. “For the millionth time, yes.”

Derek gently bit Allison’s wrist with his fangs, then licked the blood clean, claiming her for Beacon Hills. 

“Your father’s going to kill me,” he murmured as the pack cheered.

Allison grinned and buttoned a tooled leather cuff around her wrist, covering Derek’s mark. “I always wear this on my bow arm,” she explained. “What he can’t see won’t hurt him.”

Even later, as evening began to fall, Derek drifted off to sleep on the sofa in his office. Someone had strung a string of tiny white Christmas lights around the upper trim of the room, lending a soft, soothing glow that was the only illumination. A choir crooned Christmas carols from the sound system in the living room where Margery, as promised, was rolling out an enormous batch of gingerwolves. The pack, as enthusiastic and messy as a kindergarten class, was decorating them with piped white icing. Their sugar high had barely kicked in yet, and there had already been at least one icing fight. 

Derek let out a long breath, grateful for the sanctuary of his office, and snuggled deeper under the wool throw. He’d barely fallen asleep before the dreams began.

This time, it was a voice.

“Wake up, boy!” 

Derek startled awake and found himself in a bed with a high carved headboard, lying under a soft woven coverlet. He blinked in confusion as the room came into focus. It was small and cozy and looked like something out of a fairy tale. Dark wooden beams, elaborately carved with symbols, criss-crossed the whitewashed ceiling above him. The furniture was also dark wood, some painted in bright colors. A large crucifix hung on the wall, a second cross woven out of dried palm fronds tucked neatly behind it. There was a Christmas tree in one corner, decorated with plaited straw ornaments. Oddly enough, it was hanging upside down from the ceiling.

To his right, beside the bed, were two windows. It was daylight outside, if a muted version. Snow fell, piling in soft heaps on the windowsill where, incongruously, bright red geraniums bloomed.

“Wake up!” The voice was female, imperious and demanding. It was the voice of someone who expects to be obeyed.

Obediently, Derek turned his head and saw an old woman sitting on the other side of the bed. Her hair, neatly braided and wrapped around her head, was snow-white hair with one incongruous red streak. Her eyes, under still-dark brows, were a startling shade of amber. When Derek met her gaze, she gave a pleased nod.

“Good,” she said briskly but not unkindly. “You’ve slept enough. It’s Christmas, boy. Time to wake up.”

Derek understood her meaning, although for some reason the movements of her mouth didn’t seem to match the words she was saying. Likewise, the old woman seemed to be two people at once—one, an elderly grandmother in a hand-knitted red wool cardigan buttoned sensibly to her chin. The other, superimposed, had the same face, only this time she was dressed in elaborate embroidered robes with an enormous headdress. On its front peak, a moon was depicted in silver in its journey from new to full to waning. The two crescents, ripening and waning, curved in opposite directions, looking like horns.

Derek blinked, and the image wavered. Now the woman’s face looked irritated.

“Not you, wolf,” she said. “It’s my turn now. Be off with you!”

“Derek, wake up!”

Derek’s eyes flew open. He sat upright and looked around in utter confusion. It was night, and Scott was shaking him.

“Stop that,” Derek snapped. He wanted to be back in the dream.

“Sorry,” Scott said vibrating with excitement. “But you have to wake up.”

“Why?” Derek growled, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Look!” Scott pointed to the window. When Derek turned and looked, he saw snow falling in the darkness outside, feathery flakes brushing up against the windowpane as gently as a fingertip’s caress.

***

After that, Derek felt his energy gradually return. He could only assume that Stiles’ condition was improving at the same time, but no word came. Stan had explained that cell service was virtually non-existent in the Serafin compound, due to the high level of atmospheric disturbances caused by the family’s magic. Even landlines occasionally failed, especially when winter snows blanketed the Holy Cross Mountains. He’d promised to send updates via mail, but so far Derek hadn’t received any news.

After the last dream, his psychic connection to Stiles faded almost to nothingness. Somehow, that hurt even worse than the previous emotional turmoil and haunting dreams. But Derek knew he needed to be strong for his pack, so he pushed himself to stay busy to keep his mind off the aching loss. 

Meanwhile, out in the real world, life moved on. Derek belatedly realized that the events of the fall had major repercussions for his family. Peter’s resurrection had undone more than twenty years of tightly woven lies, and even with the clan’s control over the media, word would eventually get out that something major had gone down in Beacon Hills. As for Kate’s death, how would he ever explain that to her family?

He needn’t have worried. The Hale public relations machine had been working overtime to produce a version of events that was accurate in broad strokes and just detailed enough to be plausible. 

Rather than attempting to hide Peter’s reappearance, Grayson announced it in a press conference. Deaton stood solemnly by his side until, at Grayson’s invitation, he stepped forward to verify the information. It was true, he stated, that the dangerously unstable Peter Hale been declared dead after his initial killing spree the previous year. However, unbeknownst to anyone, he had survived the fire and recovered with the help of a corrupt mage, whom Deaton declined to name for security reasons. 

With a nod of thanks, Grayson resumed the tale. His son Derek had gone to Beacon Hills to settle his uncle’s financial affairs and other matters. Eventually, Derek found evidence Peter had survived and tracked him down to his lair. There he’d discovered that not only was Peter alive, he was even further gone in madness. He’d also gathered a group of followers, bloodthirsty rogues all, with a plan to murder Grayson. Derek fought bravely but was outnumbered and injured to the point of death. 

Here, Grayson broke off, clearly overcome. His wife Kara intervened, taking her husband’s hand and leading him gently aside. Laura Hale took his place at the microphone and finished the story.

Derek’s fiancée Kate Monroe had gone to Beacon Hills to see him. She followed Derek into the forest and died protecting him from Peter. Meanwhile, Grayson had been alerted to the situation in Beacon Hills by an anonymous tip. He arrived just in time to save Derek. In the end, Grayson killed Peter, an event witnessed by his personal bodyguards. Deaton again confirmed the story, adding that the Order was conducting its own internal investigation into the errant mage.

Laura ended the press conference, stating that the clan would not be taking questions until a later date. Meanwhile, she asked that members of the press and the public respect the family’s need for privacy during such a difficult time.

Fortunately, Kara Hale granted an exclusive interview to the _Weekly Wolf News_ TV show a week later, speaking with senior correspondent Barbara Wolvers. Seated in a parlor in front of a crackling fire, she described the terror she’d felt at hearing the news 

“No mother should ever have to get a phone call like that,” she said. “I thank God every day that Grayson reached Derek in time.” 

Despite her (admittedly) natural reserve, Kara opened up a little more at the reporter’s respectful questioning. Yes, Derek’s injuries were considerable but he was expected to make a full recovery. However, he would remain in seclusion for the foreseeable future. 

“It was the mental shock, you see,” Kara explained. “None of us ever expected anything like this to happen. And to lose Kate like that…” She broke off, lips trembling.

Barbara hesitated. “There were rumors earlier this fall that Derek and Kate had broken up.”

“Gossip.” Kara gave an airy wave of her hand. “What would we do without the gossip papers to amuse us?” She gave a gentle laugh, and Barbara joined in. 

Then Kara leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. “I grew up on my family’s vineyard in Sonoma,” she said, “and to be honest, I’ve always thought of myself as a simple country girl, despite all this.” She indicated the opulence that surrounded her. “I’ve never understood the kind of people who start rumors just to cause trouble for others. Derek and Kate had their ups and downs, just like any couple, but in the end…well, a mother knows, doesn’t she?”

“So you’re saying Derek and Kate were officially engaged?” Barbara pressed.

Kara’s eyes filled with tears. “Kate was wearing Derek’s collar when she died.”

“Oh.” Moved, Barbara placed a hand over her heart.

Kara nodded, dabbing at tears with a neatly pressed linen handkerchief. “I’m sorry,” she said with another gentle laugh. “I promised myself I wouldn’t get emotional.”

“That’s quite all right,” Barbara reassured her. 

“Thank you.” Kara dabbed her eyes again. “Like I said, every couple has their ups and downs, but in the weeks leading up to this terrible tragedy, I can honestly say that I’ve never seen Derek happier. And now…”

Kara hesitated, looking down at her hands. The camera zoomed in.

“And now…?” Barbara queried.

Kara took a deep breath. “Now,” she said sadly, “I don’t think he’ll ever be the same again.”

Not a word of it was an outright lie.

Fortunately, Derek later learned, Kate had been too ashamed to confide in anyone except Derek’s parents about his attraction to Stiles. Her own family and friends had no idea. As far as they knew, the events in Beacon Hills had taken place as described. Derek assumed a generous financial compensation had been paid to her parents for the loss of their lucrative marriage contract.

A few weeks later, another announcement from the Hales again rocked the werewolf world, but for far happier reasons. This time, the exclusive went to Minxy Brown.

_Readers, you heard it here first!_ she wrote in her blog for the Wolf Gazette online edition . _Laura Hale is engaged! Yes, LA’s most notorious bachelorette is finally ready to put a collar on it! I met with Laura over pinot grigio and almonds at a wine bar in Santa Monica, where her fiancé soon joined us. With his neatly trimmed beard, dark-rimmed glasses, and serious air, Marcus LeVaq looks more like a TA than a Hollywood Hunk—which, in fact, he is. (A published novelist, he teaches in the Creative Writing program at USC.)_

__

_Laura blushes visibly when Marcus walks in the room, and when I ask her how their engagement came about, she’s eager to spill the entrails._

__

__

_“Well, as you know, Minxy, our family has been through some hard times lately. Marcus called me out of the blue to see how I was doing, and we talked for, what, an hour?” She glances at her intended._

_“At least,” Marcus agrees with a fond smile._

_“I’d forgotten how easy Marcus is to talk to,” Laura confides. “We met for coffee a week later, kept in touch over the holidays…”_

_“Laura joined some friends and me for a small gathering on New Year’s Eve,” Marcus adds._

_“Poets!” Laura puts in, laughing. “I was so intimidated! I was a business major before law school—I don’t know a quatrain from a free verse. Everyone had to contribute an original poem for the evening. His was brilliant, and mine was pathetic.”_

_“Hardly,” Marcus protests. “Mine was pompous—something about moonlight reflected in her eyes— and Laura’s was straightforward.”_

_“How does it go?” I ask._

_Laura and Marcus exchange a private smile. Then she raises her glass and recites: “Roses are red, violets are blue. I was an idiot to not marry you.’”_

_“And mine basically said the same thing,” Marcus laughs. “But with more moonlight.”_

_“So do you regret your earlier decision to break off your arranged marriage?” I ask._

_The couple sobers, pondering the question for a moment before replying._

_“I’m not sure ‘regret’ is the word I’d choose,” Laura says, thoughtfully twirling the stem of her wine glass._

_“Nor I,” Marcus agrees._

_“I had a lot of growing up to do before I was ready for the responsibility of marriage and family,” Laura admits. “Being out on my own made me realize some things about myself I might not have otherwise.”_

_“Such as?”_

_Laura gives a rueful smile. “Well, I learned the hard way that I really don’t enjoy the singles scene. I don’t think either one of us did.”_

_“It gets old fast,” Marcus agrees. “I’m an introvert, like most writers. I’m much happier spending time with one person with whom I have a deep connection than a dozen superficial encounters.”_

_Laura nods thoughtfully. “We’re serious people, built for the long haul. We don’t mind taking on responsibilities that others might shirk.”_

_“And having a variety of life experiences has actually made it easier for me to commit,” Marcus concludes. “If we hadn’t had those years apart, I might have gone into marriage thinking there might be something better out there for me.” He takes Laura’s hand and kisses it. “Now I know there isn’t.”_

_Laura nods. “In the end, I think we both learned that the old ways are best.”_

Derek closed the lid of his laptop and stared at Laura. 

"Honey,” he said finally. “Are you sure?”

"Of course,” Laura tossed her hair, but her face betrayed a slight blush. “I’m ready to settle down."

“You’re not lying,” Derek said slowly, listening to her steady heartbeat. “But you’re not telling the whole truth, either.”

Laura’s flush grew. “What I said in the interview is technically true—" 

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Only technically?”

Laura let out a huff of impatience, then rose to pace the kitchen. “Marcus and I have always been good friends. You know that. We genuinely care about each other. Plus, we want the same things.”

"Such as?”

“Such as a family,” Laura said, turning back. “And, no, before you ask, it’s not just to carry on the Hale name. I want pups. I always have. I just don’t want to stay home with them all day like a _hauswolf_.”

“So you’ll keep working at Hale?”

"Exactly. And Marcus will stay home and write. He _hates_ teaching. We’ll have Omegas to help, of course,” Laura added. “But this arrangement suits us both.”

“Are you sure?”

“Derek,” Laura said gently. “One of us had to fulfill our contract. Otherwise people would start to talk.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest. “We can’t allow the Hales to get a reputation for being oathbreakers.”

"Oathbreakers?” Derek’s voice rose. “Is that how you think of me?”

"No, of course not—"

“No?” he interrupted angrily. “So that crack about shirking responsibilities wasn’t aimed at me?” He started to rise, but Laura sat again and took his hands, holding them firmly until he calmed. 

“Derek,” she said, “what happened with Kate wasn’t your fault.”

Derek pulled his hands away and folded his arms. “What about what happened with Stiles?” 

“Not your fault, either,” Laura said firmly. “Even if Kate had lived, I wouldn’t have wanted you to marry her, not after I saw you truly happy with Stiles.” 

“But now you have to marry, whether you want to or not, just to save the family reputation,” Derek said miserably. “Did Dad give you a direct order? He did, didn’t he? Or was Kara behind this?”

Laura smiled. “Derek,” she said. “Baby brother. I’m the eldest child of the High Alpha. I always knew someday I’d be required to mate, marry, and mother. We all make sacrifices. And those of us who have been given more in life need to make even more sacrifices—"

"'For the good of those who look to us for leadership.’” Derek put his head in his hands. “God, now you’re quoting Dad.” 

"Dad’s not wrong.” 

Derek rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I just don’t want you sacrificing your happiness for mine.”

"I’m not. I’m not,” Laura repeated when Derek looked at her. “I wasn’t lying when I said I learned some things recently. And one of the things I learned is that life is short.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve seen a lot of death in Beacon Hills, more than I’ve ever seen before. It made me think about things differently.” She took his hands again. “Do you understand?” 

"I guess,” Derek said reluctantly. “I just thought..."

“You thought what?” 

“I thought you and Alphonse…kind of had a thing going. At least for a while.” Derek knew Alphonse was still working as a deputy in Beacon Hills, but hadn’t approached him. After all, “Are you still boning my sister?” was such an awkward way to start a conversation. 

“Oh.” Laura blushed, pulling her hands away. “We did have a thing. Still do, actually. We're kind of in love.” 

“So you _are_ sacrificing your happiness,” Derek accused. 

"Not at all." Laura raised her chin. “After Marcus and I are married, we’ll move to a new home. Alphonse will join my pack and work as a security consultant. With his background in law enforcement, no one will think twice about it.” 

"A security consultant meaning…” 

"A personal bodyguard for me and my family, and head of security for our household.” 

__

__

“Oh,” Derek said. Then: “ _Oh_.” 

" _Oh_ ,” Laura echoed. “Exactly.” 

Derek frowned. “You won’t be able to give Alphonse the Mating Mark.” 

"True.” Laura sighed. “But he’ll have my Claim. He’ll have a pack and a home, and he’ll no longer be an exile.” 

"And he’s okay with this?” 

"Derek.” Laura’s voice softened again. “I’m a realist, remember? So is Alphonse. You’re the one who’s a dreamer. If this is the only way we can be together…” She shrugged. 

Derek’s frown deepened. “What about Marcus? Does he have any idea—”

"Of course,” Laura snapped. “I’m certainly not going to go behind his back. I respect him too much. We discussed everything.” 

Bewildered, Derek rubbed his eyes again. “And he’s agreed to this…arrangement?”

"Of course.” Laura smiled, showing her teeth. “After all, the Alpha has her privileges.” 

*** 

Later that day, Derek drove down the mountain. It was the first time he’d been out of the Preserve since Stiles had left, but he felt the need to clear his head. Besides his general befuddlement, there was an overwhelmingly feminine tone to pack life since Laura had broken the news of her engagement. 

When Derek left Hale House, Laura was surrounded. Lydia, armed with a hairbrush, stood on a chair behind her trying her hair in various styles. 

"Of course,” she said through a mouthful of Bobbie pins, “Your hair and makeup will ultimately depend on the dress. But we can get a sense for what suits you.”

"She’ll need at least two dresses,” Margery commented as she wrapped Laura in measuring tape. “One for the ceremony, and the other for the reception.” 

"I don’t want a lot of fuss and bother,” Laura insisted. 

"Nonsense,” Margery said briskly. “There’s no bother at all.” She peered at the measuring tape with a critical eye. “You’re taller than your mother, but I can still adapt her dress if you want.”

Laura made a face. “It’s so stiff and old-fashioned,” she complained. “But I know she wants me to wear it, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.” 

“Just wear it for the engagement photos,” Margery soothed, wrapping the tape around Laura’s waist. “You’ll want a traditional look for those anyway.”

"“What are your reception colors?” Allison asked, scrolling through bridal websites on her laptop at dizzying pace.

"I was thinking black and white,” Laura said, “maybe with red accents. An Old Hollywood look.” 

"Elegant.” Erika nodded approvingly. “You should consider orchids."

Derek fled. As he crept down the back steps, they were arguing the merits of Paris versus Turks and Caicos for a honeymoon destination.

He drove aimlessly for a while, ending up at the post office in Beacon Hills. Since he was on indefinite leave of absence from Hale Corporation, he wasn’t expecting any mail. Sure enough, Miss Hayes only handed over a single envelope with no return address. Still, she gave him the full benefit of her wrinkled bosom as she leaned over the counter. “Haven’t seen you for a while,” she remarked. “Heard you had company up there. An older woman.” She waggled her eyebrows in hopeful flirtation.

"That’s my mom,” Derek said absently, peering at the badly smudged postmark. 

Miss Hayes looked disappointed at the lack of scandal. “Oh, how nice.” 

Derek sketched a wave and hurried out before she could ask him any more questions. Fortunately, there was a long line of customers, so she couldn’t follow him to the car, which she’d been known to do, claiming it was time for her smoke break.

Safely inside the Camaro, Derek opened the envelope. Inside was a postcard. The picture was a charming winter scene in which children dressed in folk costumes frolicked in the snow under a banner proclaiming _Szczęśliwego Nowego Roku!_. Someone had crossed out the message and scrawled _Welcome to Freezing-Ass Poland_ in its place.

Derek turned the card over. On the back was written _I still hate you but I miss you_. There was no signature, but the handwriting clearly belonged to Stiles.

Derek smiled, then started the car.

_I still hate you but I miss you._

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dearest readers! As usual, thanks for your patience. This chapter is twice as long as usual - hope you enjoy it!

Halfway up the hill, Derek pulled over, snared by a sudden thought: He’d absentmindedly told Eileen Hayes that the mysterious woman who’d been shopping for groceries in Beacon Hills using Derek Hale’s credit card was his mother. Knowing Eileen, the news was already making the rounds. 

“Idiot!” Derek scolded himself. Once again, his pack would hear from strangers what they should have heard from their Alpha. 

Troubled, he returned home. His face must have been ashen, because Margery took one look at him and excused herself from the giggling group of girls, explaining that she needed to measure Derek for his tuxedo. 

“Don’t bitch,” Laura scolded when he made a face. “You’re wearing one, and that’s final. And shave your beard!” she added as Margery steered Derek out onto the porch.

It was chilly and damp outside, with clouds scudding across the sky. Margery pulled her cardigan tighter around her small frame as she peered up at Derek. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you look this guilty since I caught you with that stack of _Play-mates_ when you were twelve.”

Derek blushed. Hoping the girls would be too distracted to overhear, he took a deep breath and confessed what he’d done.

Margery blinked her dark eyes. Then her face went carefully blank.

“I understand why you might want to continue to keep your biological parentage a secret—"

“No!” Derek said, appalled. “God, no!” Frustrated, he gripped his hair in both hands and paced the porch. “I’m proud that you’re my mother and I want everyone to know. It’s just that it’s…”

“Complicated,” Margery said, folding her hands at her waist.

“It’s _private_ ,” Derek insisted, turning toward her. “Because of…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

Margery raised her chin. “Because of what Peter did.”

“Yes,” Derek said miserably. “I should have asked your permission before I told anyone. I shouldn’t—” His breath caught suddenly. His head swam.

“Derek.” Margery stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

Derek shook his head, trying to throw off the buzzing in his ears. “I shouldn’t ...” His breath hitched again, and the buzzing grew louder. 

_Panic attack_ , he thought. It had happened before, during his conversation with Grayson, right on this very spot.

“Why is this happening again?” He could hear the note of terror in his voice, but barely, as if from a distance. He felt Margery take his hands.

“Your skin is like ice,” she exclaimed. She gripped his fingers tightly and guided him to one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch. “Sit,” she ordered. “Now breathe.”

“Derek? What’s going on? Your heart rate is through the roof.” That was Laura’s voice.

Derek cringed instinctively, ducking his head. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I shouldn’t have told.”

“Alpha, I’ll handle this,” he heard Margery say. “Please go inside.”

Laura must have hesitated, because Margery’s voice got louder. “Laura! I said I’ll handle this! Now go back inside.”

Her tone broke through Derek’s growing panic. He had never heard Margery speak so sharply to anyone. He stared at her in shock as her face swam back into focus. 

“Better?” she asked.

Derek nodded dumbly.

“Good.” Margery pulled the other chair closer and sat facing Derek. “Just keep breathing.” She placed a soothing hand on the back of his neck, and he felt his panic gradually ease.

“Would you like me to get you some water?” she asked once his heartbeat had returned to normal.

“No!” Derek felt terror surge again. “Don’t leave me.”

“Shhh,” Margery soothed, stroking his hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

The front door opened a crack, and a hand emerged, holding a steaming cup.

“I made tea,” Laura said, her tone half-truculent, half-chastened.

“I’ll be right back,” Margery told Derek, then rose. Derek could hear her talking to Laura, their voices a comforting murmur. Then she was back, carefully folding his hands around the cup.

“Drink,” she ordered. 

Derek sipped obediently. The tea was strong, the way he liked it, although Laura had dumped in way too much milk and sugar—for shock, he supposed.

He must have made a face, because Margery laughed. “Yes, I know,” she said. “But drink it.”

Derek drank, feeling the warmth returning to his limbs. It started to snow, the flakes hissing gently as they brushed against bare branches and lingering dead leaves.

Derek heard subdued voices, then a door opening. He stiffened in embarrassment, then relaxed as he realized the sounds were coming from the back door, not the front. The girls were leaving.

“I ruined Laura’s celebration,” he said mournfully, sensing their distress. 

“Nonsense,” Margery said. “There’s plenty of time yet to plan the wedding. Besides, the girls need to study for a chemistry exam. Well, Allison and Erika need to study,” he amended. “Lydia will do just fine.”

“I should drive them home.” Derek knew the girls had walked through the preserve. “If the damp makes Lydia’s hair poof, I’ll never heard the end of it.” He started to rise, but Margery pushed him back with a firm hand.

“Laura will do it. They’ll be fine,” she added gently. “They’re worried about you, but you can check in with them later.”

Derek heard a car start, then pull out. A little more tension left his shoulders as silence returned to the clearing, broken only by the sighing of the wind and the hiss of the snow.  
Margery sat again, watching him carefully until he finished his tea. 

“Good,” she said briskly. “Your color is better.” 

She hesitated, then stood. “I should make you something to eat.”

“No.” Derek caught her sleeve. “Just stay with me a while. Please, Mama?”

Margery’s expression softened, and she stroked his hair again. “Little pup, all grown up,” she crooned.

Derek smiled, then leaned tiredly into her touch and closed his eyes.

“Derek,” she asked after a moment. “What are you afraid is going to happen if you tell the truth?”

Derek let out a long breath. “They’ll find out.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

Derek frowned but didn’t open his eyes. “My parents. And then they’ll take you away from me.”

“Ah,” Margery said gently. “Because you broke the rule.”

“Yes. Or, no…” Derek paused, puzzled. “Wait, that’s not it,” he said slowly. “They won’t take you away. They’ll take _me_ away.” 

His eyes flew open, and he gripped Margery’s wrist. “I remember,” he whispered. “Oh, God, I _remember_.” 

He leapt up and was halfway across the clearing before Margery caught up with him.

“Derek!” She grabbed at his sleeve. “Calm down. Tell me what you see.”

Derek turned in a circle, until the surrounding tree seemed to whirl around him. “We were here,” he stammered. “I was playing with Laura in the house. Then you and I went for a walk in the woods and then I was in the car…”

_The car engine roared, the tires spitting gravel, as it accelerated backward down the driveway and turned, throwing the occupants to one side._

_Derek struggled to sit up and look out the back window even though his head was spinning. He caught one last glimpse of Stiles and the pack standing on the front porch of his home before the clearing disappeared into the fog and the trees._

No, Derek told himself, shaking his head. This memory was older, and Derek far younger. He was in the car, yes, but this time his legs were so tiny he could barely see out the window, even when he stood on the back seat. And instead of Stiles and the pack, someone stood alone on the porch as the car drove away: A small, dark-haired woman, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Derek could smell the sharp salt smell of her tears, even as her familiar, comforting scent—warm milk and clean linens—grew further and further away. He felt the hot touch of tears on his own cheeks as an anguished howl burst from deep within him.

Derek felt his throat tighten at the memory, and he stared at Margery in horror. “I was crying. I kept calling for you but they just…they just drove away.”

Margery’s dark eyes filled with compassion. “Yes,” she said gently. “I remember. I hoped you had forgotten.”

“I did, but…” Derek looked around him in bewilderment. He remembered what Grayson had told him. “We lived in this house, right?” Derek asked Margery. “Just the two of us? And guards, to keep us safe from Peter.”

“That’s right.” 

“I felt at home right away,” he told Margery, “when I arrived here a few months ago. I just didn’t know why.”

“Of course.” Margery smiled fondly. “You were born here.”

“But…I’ve seen photos,” Derek said, confused. “Baby pictures of me in the garden in Los Angeles...” His voice trailed off as he realized the truth. “Those pictures were taken here, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” Margery answered. “Shortly after you were born.”

Derek dropped to his knees and put his head in his hands. “So the plan was already in play,” he said bitterly. “They were already working on their cover story, that Kara had gone away to have me.”

“Yes.” Margery knelt beside him. Snowflakes sparkled in her dark hair. “I was allowed to keep you until you were weaned and then…”

“And then they took me.” Bile rose in Derek’s throat as the memory flared again. It was so vivid now, he couldn’t believe he had ever forgotten it. He rubbed his eyes, which stung. “What happened next?”

“Grayson beat Peter in a duel, and Peter was exiled here.”

“No.” Derek raised his head. “I mean, what happened to you?”

“Oh.” Margery blushed. “I returned to your grandparents’ household.”

Derek growled in rage. “They sent you back to work, like nothing had ever happened. And meanwhile they were drugging me to keep me from crying. Until you came to live with us.”

“Yes.” Margery smiled again, this time a little smugly. “You settled right down once I gave you the breast again.”

“Oh, Lord.” Derek put his head back in his hands, blushing until the tips of his ears tingled. 

Margery laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’ve been spending too much time with humans. Wolves need never be ashamed of something so natural.”

“I suppose not.” Derek rubbed his chin, abashed.

“Come.” Margery took Derek’s hand and helped him up. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

“I’m a werewolf,” he groused. “It’s not like I’ll get sick.” But he followed after her obediently. 

Back in the house, Margery sent him upstairs to change into warmer clothes. When he came downstairs again, he found her in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of tea.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the tiny table, where she had set out the tea things along with some shortbread.

Derek sat, absently breaking apart a cookie with his hands. “Mama, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Margery answered as she poured steaming water over the tea leaves. 

“Grayson told me Malcom was the one who came up with the idea that you should live with us and care for me, like Moses’ mother in the Bible story,” Derek said. “And then Grayson was able to convince Kara.”

“Yes, that’s true.” 

“But Malcolm hates me.”

Margery smiled as she placed the lid on the pot and settled a tea cozy over it. “He doesn’t hate you, Derek.”

“He told me I should never have been born,” Derek snapped. “So why would he have helped us?”

“Ah.” Margery sighed, then sat opposite Derek. She was quiet for a long moment, then spoke. 

“When Grayson married Kara, he also claimed her brother Malcolm as his Beta, to strengthen the bond between the families. Malcolm and Kara are twins, did you know that?”

“No,” Derek said sourly. He bit into the shortbread, but it tasted like dust.

“Well,” Margery continued, “Malcolm was clever and made himself so useful that he became Grayson’s closest advisor. Malcolm was angry after Peter…attacked me. He wanted to challenge Peter to a duel himself, but your grandfather Nathaniel forbade it. He even made Grayson wait until after you were born to challenge him.”

“Of course.” Derek scowled, crushing the shortbread between his fingers. “Nathaniel wanted to make sure Grayson had two children before he took out Peter. An heir and a spare, right? Otherwise his plan would be too risky.”

“Indeed.” Margery spoke calmly. “Your grandfather was thorough. Once Grayson unseated Peter and after they took you away…” 

For the first time, Margery’s voice wobbled. She cleared her throat and poured Derek’s tea, then her own. “Afterwards, I went to Malcolm and begged for his help. I knew he…fancied me, so it wasn’t hard to persuade him.” 

Derek looked at her sharply. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“Of course not. It wouldn’t have been proper, and Malcolm is, above all else, proper.”

Derek snorted in derision. “If you say so.” He paused as realization hit. “The whole Moses thing was your idea, wasn’t it? Not Malcolm’s.”

“Of course.” Margery permitted herself another smug smile as she poured milk in her tea. “As if Malcolm ever read his Scripture. But he was the one who presented the idea to Grayson.”

“Who then persuaded Kara.”

“Yes,” Margery said as she picked up her cup. “And I’ll always be grateful to Malcolm because of it.”

“God!” Irritated, Derek brushed crumbs from his fingers. “How can you be so calm about all this?”

Margery sipped her tea. “I wasn’t always calm,” she admitted. “It helped, once I was able to care for you again.”

“Provided you never told me the truth.”

“It was a long time ago,” Margery said gently. “And now we’re together. And no one will ever be able to separate us again.” A hint of steel crept into her voice.

Derek’s eyes finally filled with tears. “But how could you love me at all?” he whispered.

“Oh, Derek.” Margery set her cup on the saucer with a clatter, then cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “Derek, my beautiful, strong son. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“How can you say that?” Derek asked, appalled. “What Peter did to you…and then what Kara and Grayson did—”

“Derek Hale,” Margery interrupted. “Listen to what I’m saying.” She tightened her grip, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. “Yes, terrible things happened to me, but you are not one of those terrible things. You’re not,” she added when he tried to interrupt. “You are the good that came out of it.” She reached up a hand and stroked his hair back from his forehead. “Do you understand?”

Derek shook his head. “Everything good in me comes from you. And I was so _stupid_!” he added, refusing to let himself off the hook. “I treated you like nothing, like a servant instead of my mother.”

“There is no way you could have known,” Margery said reasonably, picking up her tea again. ”You were just a child. And unfortunately, if adults repeat a lie often enough, a child has no choice but to believe it.”

“I still should have figured it out,” Derek muttered. “But I think I knew, at least on some level,” he added. “I used to wish you were my mother, instead of Kara. I always felt guilty for feeling that way.”

Margery sighed. “Hers wasn’t an easy position.”

Derek’s temper rose again. “Please don’t defend her.”

Margery shook her head. “None of us were given a choice in the matter. Grayson and Kara either went along with their Alpha’s plan, or Grayson would have to take a new mate. Those were their options.”

“That’s still more of a choice than you were given,” Derek said hotly. 

“True,” Margery admitted. She looked around the kitchen. “Yet here we are again, after all these years, just like I prayed would happen.” She reached over and took Derek’s hand. “We’ve had too much time taken from us already, don’t you think?”

Derek nodded. “Way too much.”

“Exactly.” Margery squeezed his hand. “So let’s put the past behind us and cherish the time we have together. And anyone who doesn’t like it can choke on it.”

Despite himself, Derek gave a snort of laughter. 

“That’s better,” Margery smiled, patted his hand, and picked up her cup again. “Now drink your tea before it gets cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Derek drank his tea and ate some shortbread. For some reason, it tasted better now.

Margery watched him fondly, then spoke again. “Always remember, son—the truth only hurts those who fear it.”

***

“Derek, where are we going?” Laura asked as she followed him up the stairs.

“Someplace we can talk privately.”

“But we’re the only ones here.”

Derek stopped and glared back at her. “Margery’s here.”

Laura blinked. “Well, yeah, but she—"

“She’s just an Omega?” Derek snarled. “We can say whatever we want in front of her, because it’s like she doesn’t exist? She’s just…” Derek waved his hands in frustration, trying to find the right metaphor. “Part of the background, like a potted plant?”

“A potted plant—Derek, what the hell are you talking about?” Laura put her hands on her hips. “I was going to say that Margery would never betray a confidence.”

“Oh.” Mollified, Derek turned and trudged up the stairs. “Well, you’re right, but I still want to go up here.”

“Here? Where is here? Good Lord,” Laura added as they arrived on the third floor. “I don’t think I’ve ever even been up here. Where are we going?”

“Stiles’ room,” Derek replied. He pulled the ladder down from the ceiling and climbed.

“Stiles’ room?” Laura stared up into the dark hole. “Why the hell did you stick him up here?”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Derek said. “This was his hideaway when Peter was Alpha.”

He turned on the light and looked around him. As usual, the single bulb gave a feeble glow against the darkness outside. The huge stacks of books were gone, now lovingly housed in Derek’s office on shelves specially made by Boyd. Only the pallet and blankets remained. 

Derek could hear Laura grumbling as she climbed the ladder, then exclaim when she saw the room. “This is terrible! I can’t even stand up all the way.” 

“I know, but Stiles felt safe up here. And I guess I feel safe here, too,” Derek added, finally realizing why he had insisted on it. The final remnants of Peter’s scent had vanished with his death, and now the only scent in the room was Stiles’. Derek sat cross-legged on the pallet, wrapped the blanket around himself, and breathed it in, feeling his shoulders relax.

Still on the ladder, Laura folded her arms on the floor and rested her chin on them. “You miss him?”

“Yeah.” Derek’s voice cracked. “So much.”

“Yeah, I miss the little rug rat, too,” Laura said. “He makes you happy,” she explained when Derek raised his eyebrows. “I like anyone who makes you happy.” 

She climbed the rest of the way up and sat across from Derek, wrapping the other blanket around her. “I guess this isn’t so bad,” she said. “It’s kinda like the blanket forts we made when we were pups.”

Derek felt his stomach turn over with nerves. He took a deep breath. “Speaking of when we were pups…”

***

Laura sat back, looking stunned. “Holy shit. Holy _shit_.”

Derek winced. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Laura said absently. “It’s just a lot to take in.” Her eyes sharpened, and she looked at Derek. “But it certainly makes a hell of a lot more sense than Mom having a fling with creepy Uncle Peter.”

“Doesn’t it?” Derek asked, relieved.

Laura ran her hands through her hair. “God, I feel like I owe Margery a lifetime of apologies. I was such a bitch to her when I was a teenager.”

“Join the club,” Derek said mournfully.

“And to think that Peter…” Laura growled, her eyes flashing red. “God, I want to dig that bastard up and kill him all over again!”

“Again,” Derek said, “join the club.”

Laura put her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes. “I know you’re telling the truth, but I swear I remember us visiting here as a family. I definitely remember us poking around, exploring the place.”

“We did,” Derek said gently. “Just not in the way we both remembered.”

Laura’s looked up, her eyes distant again. “The house had sat empty for years until we reclaimed it. When Dad came to inspect it, we all came along. The furniture and paintings were covered with sheets. I wanted to explore the tunnels, but you were scared so—”

“Margery took me for a walk in the woods,” Derek concluded. “Only, it wasn’t quite like that. The house was being closed up again, after Margery and I lived here, and—”

“And she took you for a walk in the woods so she could say goodbye. Oh, Derek.” Laura’s eyes filled with tears. “I remember now. You were crying, in the car. I held your hand.”

“I remember that, too,” Derek said quietly. 

Laura pressed her hands against her mouth in horror, then whispered, “But how could I forget what really happened?”

Derek recalled what Margery had said. “If adults repeat a lie often enough, a child has no choice but to believe it.”

“I suppose, but we’re werewolves, for crying out loud. We’re supposed to be able to sense when someone’s lying.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past few months,” Derek said grimly, “it’s that there are a million ways to shade the truth, to deceive without technically telling a lie.”

“Holy shit,” Laura said again. 

“But wait,” Derek said, “there’s more.” He told her about Thomas.

Laura’s eyes widened. “Are you _serious_?”

“You didn’t know?” Derek asked. Again, he felt relief that he wasn’t the only one who’d been kept in the dark.

“I didn’t have a clue. Dad and Grace…” Laura shook her head again. “But it makes sense now, that Peter was able to recruit Thomas.”

“Thomas changed his mind, though, at the end,” Derek said loyally. “He saved our lives.”

“That’s true, but—“ Laura broke off, her eyes widening even further. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “ _That’s_ what she was talking about!”

“What?” Derek asked, bewildered. “Who?”

“Mom! She keeps saying we need to talk about the honeymoon, just the two of us. I’m like, ‘Mom, we do NOT need to have the sex talk. I’m almost thirty, for crying out loud!’ But what she really means is…”

Laura’s voice trailed off in horror. Then she flapped her hands in agitation. “Ew! Ew!’ I am not doing that shit! I’m NOT! It’s barbaric!”

“No argument here,” Derek said. “Although Dad told me it’s considered an honor.”

“An honor? EW!”

Derek laughed, then sobered. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Laura blinked at him in surprise. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Derek grimaced. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this.”

“Nonsense,” Laura said briskly. “We’ve had way too many family secrets.” She drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, rested her chin on them, and brooded for a long moment.  
A gust of wind shook the attic. A few snowflakes made their way through the cracks in the old house and drifted gently down on their heads. Derek pulled the blanket closer around him, inhaling Stiles’ scent.

Laura finally spoke. “Do you think I’m making a mistake, arranging things the way I have with Alphonse and Marcus?” 

“God, I don’t know.” Derek drew up his knees, mimicking her posture. “You’ll be the next High Alpha,” he said eventually, “and a damn good one.”

Laura snorted again. “Says you.”

“Says everybody,” Derek insisted. “I can’t even imagine the kinds of decisions you’ll have to make, how hard they’ll be. But I know you’ll be strong enough, because you already are—way stronger than I am.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Laura said. “Look at you, going against the whole world for your one true love.”

Derek shook his head. “But I couldn’t sacrifice that love for the good of the Clan, not the way you’re doing. Despite all the compromises you’ll have to make, you still deserve to be happy. All three of you deserve it. So if you can make it work…” He shrugged. 

“But what about my kids?” Laura asked. “Should I lie to them the way we were lied to?”

“No,” Derek said slowly, “but you shouldn’t burden them with truths that are too much for them to handle, either, or ask them to keep secrets. Maybe wait and see if they ask questions…”

“Then give them age-appropriate answers?”

“Sure, like ‘Sometimes, when an Alpha and an Omega love each other very much…’”

“Shut up!” Laura swiped at Derek, then gripped her hair, rocking back and forth. “God, Derek, I’m going to be a mom! How am I going to handle this?”

“The same way you handle everything else,” Derek said stoutly. “With intelligence and finesse.”

“Listen to you.” Laura rolled her eyes. 

Derek took her hands and squeezed them. “I love you and I want you to be as happy as I am,” he said. “I just wish you had a pack.”

Laura looked at him in confusion. “I do.”

“I meant a pack like mine,” Derek said. “Not just Betas and Omegas, but friends. People you can confide in.”

Laura’s expression softened. “Oh, Derek,” she said fondly. “‘Til I have your goodness, I can never have your happiness. ‘Til I have your strong heart, I can never run as far nor as fast.’”

Derek blinked at her. “Did you just quote the final chapter of _Werewolves and Witticisms_?”

“Perhaps,” Laura said archly. 

“You hated that book in high school.”

“Marcus has been reading the classics out loud to me. They’re not as boring as I thought.” Laura giggled. “Especially since it’s his form of foreplay.”

“Oh, Lord.” 

Laura laughed, then sobered. “Derek, what you have here is special. You and Stiles, your pack, your home. The way you seem at home in your own skin for the first time…” Laura took his hands again. “It suits you. It’s the way things were meant to be. After every crazy that’s happened this year, it’s what you deserve. And as your sister, I couldn’t be happier for you.”

Derek hesitated. “So…none of what I told you changes things between us?”

“Are you kidding?” Laura laughed again. “I’m still your bossy big sister and you’re still my bratty little brother, right?”

Derek smiled. “Always.”

“Okay.” Laura gave his fingers a quick squeeze. “Now let’s get out of this freezing attic and go have a drink.”

“You’re on.” Derek started to rise, but Laura caught his hands again. 

“Just one more thing,” she said. “Let’s make a pact—you and me, right here, right now.” 

“Okay,” Derek said hesitantly.

Laura looked deep into his eye, squeezing his hands again for emphasis. “No matter what happens, no secrets and no lies between us.”

Derek took a deep breath. “No secrets and no lies,” he repeated.

“Good,” Laura said. “Now come here.” She enveloped him in a huge hug.

Derek hugged her back, breathing in her apple-cinnamon scent. “I love you, Laura.”

“I love you too, baby brother.”

***

After his talk with Laura, Derek felt like a weight had fallen from his shoulders. His conversation with his pack also went surprisingly smoothly. Derek simply told them Margery was his biological mother. None of the teens seemed inclined to question it or even ask for details, except for Jackson.

“So you’re adopted?” he asked Derek eagerly. “Like me?”

“Yeah, technically I am,” Derek answered. 

Jackson sat back, looking pleased. Isaac piped up next.

“So does that mean Margery is kinda our honorary grandmother?”

“I suppose so,” Derek answered, smiling. “I think she’d like that.”

Isaac brightened. “Cool. She can come to our lacrosse matches, right?”

“Sure, if she wants to,” Derek said. He had recently volunteered as assistant coach for the Beacon Hills lacrosse team. It meant so much to the pack that he attend their games that he figured it was worth a shot. Coaching would give him an excuse to be there without raising any questions. He knew only the basics of the sport, but offered to be in charge of drills and conditioning. 

Coach Finstock, looking even more harried than usual, was bent over a pile of economic papers—poorly written ones, judging by his muttered monologue. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, which was already standing on end, and barely glanced at Derek when he made his offer.

“Werewolf?” he barked.

“Uhh…yeah,” Derek said carefully.

“Good.” Finstock went back to marking papers furiously with red ink. “You can keep the rest of these idiots in line. Greenberg!” he bellowed, startling Derek. “Go find Coach Hale a whistle!”

***

The next day, Derek’s cell phone rang. The number on the caller ID was Andrzej’s. Derek answered in a flash.

“What’s wrong?” he barked. “Is it Stiles? Is he okay? I can be at LAX in an hour—”

“Whoa, there, big fella,” Stiles said. “It’s me.” 

Relief made Derek’s knees so weak he laid down on the floor. “Oh, my God,” he said. 

“You okay?” Stile asked.

“I am now.” Derek cradled the phone next to his face. “I am now.”

“You don’t sound so good,” Stiles said worriedly. “You’re not hyperventilating, are you?”

“A little bit,” Derek laughed, “but in a good way. God, it’s good to hear your voice. How did you manage to call? Did you steal Andrzej’s phone?” 

“ _Steal_ is such an ugly word,” Stiles said in a lofty tone. “I prefer _misappropriated for a higher purpose_.”

“Where are you calling from?” Derek asked. “I thought you didn’t get cell service up on Bald Mountain.”

“We don’t. We’re on the train to Gdansk for Stan’s trial.”

“Hold on,” Derek said, alarmed. “The Witches Council actually put Stan on trial? Dammit!” he swore. “I’m the one who killed Krol. I offered to fly there and tell them.” He sat up. “Do you need me? I can be at LAX—"

“In an hour, I know,” Stiles laughed. “But keep your fur on. My testimony should be enough.”

“What if it’s not?” There was sudden crackling sound on the line and Stiles’ voice faded. Derek stood. “Stiles? Stiles!”

“I’m here,” Stiles said. “We just went through a tunnel.”

Derek relaxed, but only a fraction. “What if they don’t believe you?”

There was silence on the other end.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, alarmed again.

“I’m here,” Stiles said. “And they kind of have to believe me.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Listen,” Stiles said. “I should go—"

“STILES STILINSKI!” Derek bellowed in his Alpha tone. “You tell me the truth right now, or so help me God, I’ll fly to Poland just to kick your ass!”

Stiles laughed, full-throated. “God, I miss you,” he said fervently. 

“I miss you, too, but quit dodging and answer the question.”

Stiles sighed audibly. “Okay, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

“Stiles,” Derek said through his teeth. “Explain.”

“There’s a kind of…ordeal I have to go through. To prove I’m telling the truth.”

“Ordeal? What do you mean?”

“It’s a spell, where the council will see what I saw.”

“What you saw? What do you mean?”

“What I saw that night.”

“When I killed Krol?”

“Yeah, and probably…” Stiles’ voice got small. 

“Stiles, what?” Derek asked.

“What happened the night my parents were murdered.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek said. “I’m so sorry.” He hesitated. “We’ve never really talked about that.”

“No, we haven’t. Not unless you count the night I was drunk out of my mind,” Stiles said sourly.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Derek chided.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Stiles said, his voice almost pleading. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just…if I don’t talk about it, it’s like it’s not real, you know?” He sniffed. “It’s almost like I can forget about it, pretend it never happened.”

“And then it hits you.”

Stiles sighed. “Exactly. And then I don’t know how to deal, so I get shit-faced. Scott deserves a medal for putting up with me.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Derek said again. “Besides, until recently, talking about anything wasn’t an option for you.”

Stiles gave a bark of laugher. “True.”

“Tell me more about this ordeal,” Derek demanded. “Is it dangerous?”

“It can be.”

“How?”

Silence.

“Stiles,” Derek said warningly.

Stiles huffed out a breath. “Fine. Like I said, it’s a kind of spell. When I testify, it will allow the council to see what I saw. But if I try to hide anything, or lie about anything…it’ll kill me.”

Derek felt his stomach drop. “Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Stiles said. “Although, telling the absolute truth has never been my best thing.” He laughed again, his tone bitter.

Derek stood. “Enough with the graveyard humor,” he snapped. “I’m getting on the next plane.”

“No, Derek, you can’t come here. It’s not safe. If the Krols found out—”

“It’s not safe for you, either!” Derek said hotly.

“Only if I tell a lie, and I won’t. Uncle Andrzej says it’s an open-and-shut case. Once the council sees what really happens, they’ll be forced to release Stan. That’s why…”

“Why, what?” Derek asked suspiciously when Stiles’ voice trailed off.

Stiles sighed again. “The Krols pulled some strings at the last minute and got Stan’s trial moved to Gdansk. Like we wouldn’t find out,” he said contemptuously. “That’s why we’re headed there now.”

Derek stared to pace the floor. “What if they try to stop you?” 

“Oh, sure, they’ll try,” Stiles said cheerfully. “But we’ll be ready for them. Technically, I shouldn’t have risked a phone call, but I just wanted to…”

“What?” Derek snapped. “Say goodbye in case you die?”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Stiles said fondly. “I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

“Before you die.”

Stiles laughed again. “Derek, I swear, everything will be fine. Trust me, Baba’s ready to kick some ass.”

“Bubba who?”

“Baba, my grandma. The word is _babcia_ , but she says my accent is atrocious.” He sighed. “I’m a disappointment to her in so many ways. Shit,” he added, “Andrzej’s coming back. I gotta go,”

“Stiles, wait!”

“I love you,” Stiles said hurriedly. “Tell Scott and the pack I love them, too.”

“Stiles, you call me the minute it’s over, okay? That’s a direct order!”

The line went dead. Derek didn’t know if Stiles had heard him.

He stood for a minute, blood boiling in his veins and anxiety churning in his gut. He stared down at the tiny screen on his cell phone, thumb hovering over Andrzej‘s number. He desperately wanted to call, but if Andrzej picked up instead of Stiles…

“Shit,” Derek said.

He shoved the phone in his pocket, paced the floor a few times, pulled it out, and hit a number he had on speed dial.

“What are you doing right now?” he asked when Boyd picked up.

***

Night was falling when, after several hours of running, Derek and Boyd had circled back toward the house. Boyd was ahead, his stride still strong and even. Meanwhile, Derek’s legs ached, his lungs burned, and there was a stitch growing in his side. 

Derek felt a flicker of uneasiness. An un-mated Alpha was strong regardless; a mated Alpha was strong only when his mate was by his side. If any rival packs found out about his vulnerability... On the other hand, he reasoned, the entire werewolf world thought that Kate had been his mate. Given that she was dead, there should have been challenges by now. Perhaps there had been, but the extra security Grayson had ordered was keeping them at bay. For once, Derek felt grateful for his family’s interference.

On the _other_ hand, he remembered, the Beacon Hills pack had won their fight against the Winters, and by law no further challenges were permitted. That had been _their_ achievement alone, he reminded himself smugly, with no interference from the Hale Clan.

Reassured, Derek lengthened his stride and put on a burst of speed. Maybe he could still beat Boyd home.

Sensing his intent, Boyd glanced over his shoulder and grinned, then sped up.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Derek pushed his body harder, and it answered with a burst of adrenaline. Now they were running side-by-side, feet pounding on the packed earth, blood singing in their veins. The lights of Hale House appeared ahead in the growing darkness. 

At the last second, Derek caught a glimpse of something shining in the underbrush, illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun. He turned his head, stumbled over a tree root, and fell, sprawling face first on the forest floor. 

Alarmed, Boyd circled back. “You okay?” he gasped.

“My pride is bruised, but other than that…” Derek rolled over, brushing dirt and dead leaves off his belly.

Boyd collapsed on the ground next to him, breathing heavily. For a few minutes they both lay contentedly, getting their breath back and staring up at the sky, where the first stars were beginning to appear, glimmering through the treetops. 

Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket, where it was digging into his back, and wiped the sweat off. The screen was blank, just like it had been the last thirteen times he checked. He sighed in disappointment.

“You hungry?” Boyd asked.

Derek stretched, enjoying the feel of well-oiled muscles. “I could eat.”

“Think your mom would make us more of her meatloaf?” Boyd asked hopefully.

Derek laughed. “Maybe, but she’s hanging out with Melissa tonight.”

“Damn.”

They lay quietly for a few more minutes, sweat cooling on their bodies. Derek was almost drifting off the sleep when his phone chirped.

He sat bolt upright, grabbing frantically for his phone, and peered at the screen. A text message appeared:

_All clear._

“Oh, thank God,” Derek said.

“Is he okay?” Boyd asked.

Derek was about to hit reply when another message appeared: 

_Baba ROCKS. Stan free/clear. Yours truly still breathing._

Derek let out a breath. “He’s okay.” He desperately wanted to hear Stiles’ voice again, but before he could call, the phone chirped a third time.

_Gotta run. Andy says he’s getting a new phone so don’t try this number. Also says if I ever call him Andy OR misappropriate his phone again he’ll turn me into a newt. ILU._

“‘Eye-loo’?” Derek scowled at the tiny screen. “What does ‘eye-loo’ mean?”

Boyd sat up and peered over his shoulder, then gave a snort of laughter. “It’s short for ‘I love you.’” 

“Oh.” Derek felt ridiculously pleased.

Boyd clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, standing. “I’m going to buy you a cheeseburger the size of your head and then you can go bellow at some kids to get off your lawn.”

“You’re on.” Derek gratefully accepted Boyd’s hand up off the ground. His legs felt weak from relief as much as running. He turned to follow Boyd to the house when his eye caught a glimpse of something on the ground, the object that had distracted him before he fell. He peered closer and saw a small rubber Gumby figure with something else attached. He picked the object up, then started to laugh.

There, gleaming in his hand, were Stiles’ lost car keys. 

***  
***

To the disappointment of Minxy Brown, Laura Hale’s wedding was _not_ the social event of the season. Instead, the ceremony was held at the Hale mansion in Los Angeles, with the guest list limited to immediate family, pack, and friends. Laura wore a long, simple dress of white satin with spaghetti straps—a look the style blogs eagerly dubbed “timeless luxe meets California beach”—and carried flowers from her mother’s abundant gardens. Her hair and makeup were casual as well, while the men wore black Tom Ford suits instead of tuxes.

“Simple suits us,” Laura insisted in an exclusive to Minxy, then added (tearfully) that it just didn’t feel right to have a big ceremony after that had happened to Kate. “We always promised we’d be in each other’s weddings,” she said, dabbing tears. 

Minxy cooed on cue.

Despite the casual atmosphere, security for the ceremony was extremely tight. In particular, the happy couple was shadowed by a ferocious-looking bodyguard whose long black hair, powerful build, and handsome-yet-scarred face aroused curiosity (among other things). A source close the Hales revealed that, in the wake of Peter’s death, threats had been made against the family by his adherents. Public opinion, which had generally been running in favor of the Hales, swung further in their direction following this news. (Not by coincidence, this also made it easier to smoke out the Peter’s few remaining followers.)

Public opinion shifted even further when official photos of the wedding were released. Among the pictures, Derek Hale was seen first with his parents, his father’s hand resting on his shoulder, then happily embracing his sister after the ceremony, then shaking hands with his new brother-in-law. But a candid showed him, later that evening, standing by the entrance to the huge tent that had been placed on the lawn for the reception. 

Evening had fallen, casting Derek half in shadow. In the distance, the sea glimmered in the rising moonlight, while a breeze gently wafted the red fabric behind him. Derek’s expression was wistful as he stood alone apart from the crowd, watching the guests on the dance floor, their bodies twirling under the twinkling lights draped overhead. “You could tell his heart was breaking,” a guest told Minxy on condition of anonymity. “But he was trying to be brave for his sister’s sake.” 

(“Actually,” Derek told Laura, putting down the magazine, “I was trying to figure out if I could abscond with the entire shrimp platter without being seen.”)

Fortunately for the Los Angeles social scene, Laura and Marcus more made up for their small nuptials by throwing a massive party upon their return from honeymooning in Sonoma. The gala event was held at the LA County Museum of Art, and, in lieu of wedding gifts, guests were encouraged to donate to the museum’s outreach programs and emerging artist fund. Laura slayed in an Alexander McQueen gown—red, of course, in keeping with custom. Marcus broke with tradition by wearing his engagement collar, which usually was retired after the honeymoon. The ornate platinum torc, rumored to cost six figures, had been commissioned from a notable designer to replace the one Derek Hale had given to Kate. (Sources confirmed that that she had been buried wearing it.) Derek himself was conspicuously absent, although he generously donated two Rothko paintings, which had previously hung in his condominium, to the museum’s permanent collection. Derek’s reputation as a handsome-but-heartbroken recluse was thus sealed, and the public happily settled down to speculate about how soon Laura would produce pups. 

On his way out of town after leaving the condo, Derek took a detour to avoid late-afternoon traffic and found himself in an industrial neighborhood that seemed strangely familiar. After a few turns, he recognized a large warehouse and managed to squeeze the Camaro into a small parking space between two delivery trucks.

He approached the door and pressed the buzzer. There was no answer. On a hunch, he bent and peered at the tiny camera. The red light scanned his retina, and the door opened with a click. 

***

In the harsh light of day, the club seemed both smaller and shabbier. The floor smelled of bleach, while a vacuum cleaner hummed noisily on the mezzanine level. Behind the enormous bar, a tall figure dressed in jeans, work boots, and a T-shirt wrestled kegs of beer into place. Derek could tell the moment the man became aware of his presence. His shoulders stiffened but he didn’t turn.

“Alpha Hale.”

“Thomas,” Derek said. 

Thomas turned, his dark, handsome face carefully blank. “We’re closed.”

“Good.” Derek said, walking closer. “That means we’ve got time to talk.”

“I’m working.” Thomas turned away.

“So I see,” Derek said. He could also see the livid mark on Thomas’ neck where Grayson’s mark had been erased. It was the first time he’d seen the other man out of uniform. Despite his height, Thomas seemed smaller and more vulnerable, although his muscles still flexed powerfully beneath his T-shirt as he hefted another keg.

“Can I give you a hand?”

“I don’t need your help.” Thomas set the keg in place with a heavy thud.

“Fair enough.” Derek leaned on the bar. “I would have thought, given your background, that they’d have you on security rather than bartending.”

“I multitask,” Thomas said tersely.

“How’s the pay?”

“Okay, but the tips are great. Most folks are willing to pay for silence.”

“How’d you get the job? I can keep this up all day,” Derek added mildly when Thomas glared at him.

Thomas snorted in amusement. “Kara…” He hesitated. “Mrs. Hale pulled some strings.” Done with the kegs, he grabbed a dishtowel and started polishing glasses.

“They treating you okay?” Derek asked.

Thomas stopped polishing and glowered at him. “What do you want, Alpha?” he asked through his teeth.

“I told you once to call me Derek.”

“Fine. What do you want, Derek?”

“First of all,” Derek said, “I want to thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t warned Grayson of Peter’s plans, I’d be dead, and so would my pack and my sister. Our sister,” he added quietly.

Thomas’ pale green eyes widened, then flicked away. 

“I know how manipulative Peter can be,” Derek continued. “It took guts to go against him.”

Thomas laughed. “And look where it got me.” He gestured around him with his towel.

“That brings me to my second item,” Derek said. “I want to offer you a place in my pack.”

Thomas stared at Derek in shock. Then his eyes narrowed. ““I don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not charity,” Derek insisted. “You saved my life. I owe you a debt of honor.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I disagree.” Derek leaned over the bar, lowering his voice. “You’re also family. That means something to me.”

For a moment, Thomas hesitated. Then a loud crash from the mezzanine made both of them jump. A string of curse words followed.

“Hey, Tom!” a man’s voice bellowed.

Thomas took a step backward, breaking eye contact. “Yeah?”

“Come and give me a hand with this goddamn massage table!”

“On it!” Thomas yelled back. “I gotta get back to work,” he told Derek, and turned away.

“The offer stands,” Derek told him.

Thomas stopped, gripping the towel in his fist. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, then walked away.

It wasn’t a yes, Derek thought as he stepped outside the club, but it wasn’t a no either.

***

Over the next months, postcards continued to arrive from Stiles, but they were maddeningly scarce and frustratingly vague. Also, his emotions seemed to differ wildly, from upbeat (“Having tons of fun at summer camp! Learning lots of new crafts!”) to down (“I hate everyone here and everyone here hates me right back.”) After receiving the latter, about seven months after Stiles left, Derek called Stan’s cell phone out of desperation. He was prepared to leave a long, ranting voice mail, but was shocked when the man answered.

“Where the hell are you?” Derek demanded.

“In Pittsburgh,” Stan replied, “on a stakeout. Where the hell else would I be?”

“Uh, Poland?”

“Uh, excuse me, Mister High-and-Mighty Alpha,” Stan said in a waspish tone, “but some of us have jobs to do. Jobs that pay bills and eventually lead to a pension. Jobs we’re lucky to still have after taking an extended leave of absence with no explanation other than ‘ongoing family crisis.’ Jobs that—”

“What about Stiles?” Derek interrupted.

Derek heard Stan inhale on what was no doubt a cigarette. There was a long silence, then a lengthy exhale. “What about him?”

Derek ground his teeth. “How’s he doing?”

“He was fine when I left.”

“Liar,” Derek snapped. 

Stan’s tone grew frosty. “I beg your pardon?”

Derek waved the postcard in the air, forgetting that Stan couldn’t see him. “If Stiles is fine, why did I just get a letter from him that says ‘Everyone hates me and I hate them back’?”

Stan let out of huff of irritation. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Stiles is a sarcastic little shit. He doesn’t go out of his way to get along with folks. As a matter of fact, he enjoys pissing them off. But I wouldn’t worry he about it,” he added, taking another drag on his cigarette. “His grandma thinks he hung the moon, and her opinion is the one that counts.”

Derek frowned. “Stiles told me he was a disappointment to his grandmother.”

Stan gave a bark of laughter. “Seriously? If his cousins heard that, they’d laugh their asses off.”

“What do you mean?”

Stan exhaled smoke again. “My mother has 21 granddaughters and only one grandson—who do you think is her favorite?”

“Well, something’s clearly wrong,” Derek snapped, “so what the hell is it?”

There was silence for a long moment. “The last time I talked to Andrzej,” Stan said reluctantly, “Stiles was still having trouble controlling his magic. He’s pretty…volatile.”

“Appliances exploding?” Derek asked. “Lightning strikes?”

“I mean more…emotionally volatile.”

“He’s angry,” Derek said flatly. “Stiles doesn’t like not being in control of his own life. Speaking of which,” he added, “what happened at your trial? When he had to relive the night of his parents’ murder?”

Stan laughed harshly. “What do you think? The kid blew out every stained-glass window in the meeting hall. And his memories gave everyone nightmares for a month. We’re still getting complaints.”

“So send him home,” Derek said.

“He’s got to get this thing under control, or he’ll end up killing someone.”

“He already has,” Derek pointed out.

“I meant that the next time it could be someone innocent, rather than self-defense.”

“Then let him learn here.”

Stan sighed. “But someone still has to teach him. My family are the only ones who can do that. He’s struggling, but he’s still making progress. But just has trouble focusing—”

“He has ADHD,” Derek snapped.

“Yeah,” Stan said, his voice reluctant again, “the older generation of the family still isn’t convinced that’s a real thing. They think he just needs to be more disciplined.”

“Are you kidding me?” Derek started to pace out of sheer rage. “Stiles shouldn’t have to suffer because of their ignorance!”

“I know that,” Stan said, “and I’ve talked to my mother about it. She’s coming around. And I get that the kid hates it there—trust me, I do. It’s not easy, being in a new country, not knowing anyone, not knowing the language. I went through the same thing at his age, and so did Anna. But we got through it.”

“But Stiles isn’t like you,” Derek argued. “He’s part of a pack.”

“He’s not a werewolf,” Stan said irritably.

“No, but he’s not entirely a witch, either.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Derek controlled his temper with effort. “Since I claimed Stiles and the rest of my pack, my body chemistry has changed. You were there in the room when Deaton and I discussed it. So it’s only reasonable to suppose that Stiles has changed as well.”

Stan was silent for a long moment, then spoke. “I’m listening.”

Derek took a deep breath. “For weres, our pack members and especially our mates, they act as anchors. They ground us and keep us centered. If we’re separated from them, we suffer tremendously—physically, emotionally, mentally, you name it.”

“So if Stiles is now, say, a little bit werewolf…”

“He needs his pack,” Derek said flatly. “Most importantly, he needs me. Maybe _that’s_ the reason he isn’t able to control his emotions or his magic.”

“You make a good point,” Stan said reluctantly. “But even so—“ He broke off abruptly. “Oh, shit. Shit!”

“Stan?” Derek asked, alarmed.

“I been made,” Stan said. “I gotta—SHIT!”

Derek heard gunfire. “Stan!”

The line went dead.

***

Derek didn’t sleep for the next 36 hours. 

Finally, after hours of fruitless phone calls and internet searching, he found a tiny news item on the website of a small, neighborhood newspaper in Pittsburgh. He read it through bleary eyes.

_…earlier reports of gunshots confirmed… undercover police officer exchanged gunfire with an unnamed assailant…injured officer reported to be in stable condition…however, police claim that the fire that broke out at an electrical station on the same block at the same time was unrelated to the shooting…_

Derek leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Thank God.”

Derek checked over the next week, but there was no follow-up article. None of the major news outlets covered the story at all. He wondered if there was the witch equivalent of Minxy Brown, but assumed that the glamour that covered the magical world would prevent him from finding out.

In the weeks that followed, he tried Stan’s cell phone number on a regular basis, to no avail. He felt reluctant to leave a message, despite the automated voicemail’s chirpy invitation to do so. Instead, he focused on staying busy. The fall semester had started up, which meant lacrosse training was in full swing. Boyd was taking an extra semester of math classes and planned to apply to college with the others in the spring.

The thought of college brought Derek up short. Werewolves stuck close to home as a rule, so those who went to college tended to pick schools that were within clan territory. Derek didn’t want to put those kind of restrictions on his pack; at the same time, his heart quailed at the idea of his Betas being far away. The thought of them all leaving made him broody and sullen. His mood took another downward turn when he realized that Stiles’ 18th birthday had come and gone without Derek having a way to reach him. He felt angry, alienated, and alone, and became snappish and irritable. The pack wisely kept their distance, until the day came when Derek woke to find himself completely alone at Hale House. Even Margery was gone, although she left a cheerful note that she was meeting Melissa at the farmers market.

Derek couldn’t blame her, or any of the pack. Despite his best efforts, he’d been miserable company lately. He went for a run, but even that didn’t cure his odd restlessness, as if there were ants crawling under his skin. The woods seemed unusually still and silent—uncomfortably so. After his run, Derek skulked about the yard, trying not to feel sorry for himself and failing utterly. At the same time, his senses prickled. He felt as if he were being watched.

When a twig snapped loudly behind him, he whirled around, claws out, ready to slice the intruder to bloody ribbons.

“Relax, big guy,” Stiles said. “It’s me.”

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...


End file.
